Title: Pitcairn's Island (1933)
Author: Charles Nordhoff and James Norman Hall
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Title: Pitcairn's Island (1933)
Author: Charles Nordhoff and James Norman Hall
The Bounty Trilogy
Wyeth Edition
Comprising the Three Volumes:
Mutiny on the Bounty (1932)
Men Against the Sea (1933)
Pitcairn's Island (1934)
[This file contains only PITCAIRN'S ISLAND]
by Charles Nordhoff and James Norman Hall
Illustrations by N C Wyeth
Grosset and Dunlap, publishers: 1945
* * *
PITCAIRN'S ISLAND (1933)
* * *
To
ELLERY SEDGWICK
* * *
THE PITCAIRN COMMUNITY
The "Bounty" Men Their Women
Fletcher Christian Maimiti
Edward Young Taurua
Alexander Smith Balhadi
John Mills Prudence
William McCoy Mary
Matthew Quintal Sarah
John Williams Fasto (later Hutia)
Isaac Martin Susannah
William Brown Jenny
The Indian Men Their Women
Minarii Moetua
Tetahiti Nanai
Tararu Hutia
Te Moa
Nihau
Hu
The vowels in the Polynesian language are pronounced approximately as in
Italian; generally speaking, syllables are given an equal stress. The
native names in this book should be pronounced roughly as follows:--
Hu Hoo
Hutia Hoo-tee-ah
Maimiti My-mee-tee
Minarii Mee-nah-ree
Moetua Mo-ay-too-ah
Nanai Nah-nigh
Nihau Nee-how
Tararu Tah-rah-roo
Taurua Ta-oo-roo-ah
Te Moa Tay-moa
Tetahiti Tay-tah-hee-tee
* * * * *
CONTENTS:
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Epilogue
* * * * *
CHAPTER I
On a day late in December, in the year of 1789, while the earth turned
steadily on its course, a moment came when the sunlight illuminated San
Roque, easternmost cape of the three Americas. Moving swiftly westward, a
thousand miles each hour, the light swept over the jungle of the Amazon,
and glittered along the icy summits of the Andes. Presently the level
rays brought day to the Peruvian coast and moved on, across a vast
stretch of lonely sea.
In all that desert of wrinkled blue there was no sail, nor any land till
the light touched the windy downs of Easter Island, where the statues of
Rapa Nui's old kings kept watch along the cliffs. An hour passed as the
dawn sped westward another thousand miles, to a lone rock rising from the
sea, tall, ridged, foam-fringed at its base, with innumerable sea fowl
hovering along the cliffs. A boat's crew might have pulled around this
fragment of land in two hours or less, but the fronds of scattered
coconut palms rose above rich vegetation in the valleys and on the upper
slopes, and at one place a slender cascade fell into the sea. Peace,
beauty, and utter loneliness were here, in a little world set in the
midst of the widest of oceans--the peace of the deep sea, and of nature
hidden from the world of men. The brown people who had once lived here
were long since gone. Moss covered the rude paving of their temples, and
the images of their gods, on the cliffs above, were roosting places for
gannet and frigate bird.
The horizon to the east was cloudless, and, as the sun rose, flock after
flock of birds swung away toward their fishing grounds offshore. The
fledglings, in the dizzy nests where they had been hatched, settled
themselves for the long hours of waiting, to doze, and twitch, and sprawl
in the sun. The new day was like a million other mornings in the past,
but away to the east and still below the horizon a vessel--the only ship
in all that vast region--was approaching the land.
His Majesty's armed transport _Bounty_ had set sail from Spithead,
two years before, bound for Tahiti in the South Sea. Her errand was an
unusual one: to procure on that remote island a thousand or more young
plants of the breadfruit tree, and to convey them to the British
plantations in the West Indies, where it was hoped that they might
provide a supply of cheap food for the slaves. When her mission on Tahiti
had been accomplished and she was westward bound, among the islands of
the Tongan Group, Fletcher Christian, second-in-command of the vessel,
raised the men in revolt against Captain William Bligh, whose conduct he
considered cruel and insupportable. The mutiny was suddenly planned and
carried swiftly into execution, on the morning of April 28, 1789. Captain
Bligh was set adrift in the ship's launch, with eighteen loyal men, and
the mutineers saw them no more. After a disastrous attempt to settle on
the island of Tupuai, the _Bounty_ returned to Tahiti, where some of
the mutineers, as well as a number of innocent men who had been compelled
to remain with the ship, were allowed to establish themselves on shore.
The _Bounty_ was a little ship, of about two hundred tons burthen,
stoutly rigged and built strongly of English oak. Her sails were patched
and weather-beaten, her copper sheathing grown over with trailing weed,
and the paint on her sides, once a smart black, was now a scaling, rusty
brown. She was on the starboard tack, with the light southwesterly Wind
abaft the beam. Only nine mutineers were now on board, including Fletcher
Christian and Midshipman Edward Young. With the six Polynesian men and
twelve women whom they had persuaded to accompany them, they were
searching for a permanent refuge: an island so little known, so remote,
that even the long arm of the Admiralty would never reach them.
Goats were tethered to the swivel stocks; hogs grunted disconsolately in
their pens; cocks crowed and hens clucked in the crates where several
score of fowls were confined. The two cutters, chocked and lashed down by
the bulwarks, were filled to the gunwales with yams, some of them of
fifty pounds weight. A group of comely girls sat on the main hatch,
gossiping in their musical tongue and bursting into soft laughter now and
then.
Matthew Quintal, the man at the wheel, was tall and immensely strong,
with sloping shoulders and long arms covered with tattooing and reddish
hair. He was naked to the waist, and his tanned neck was so thick that a
single unbroken line seemed to curve up from his shoulder to the top of
his small head. His light blue eyes were set close together, and his
great, square, unshaven chin jutted out below a slit of a mouth.
The light southwesterly air was dying; presently the ship lost way and
began to roll gently in the calm, her sails hanging slack from the yards.
Clouds were gathering on the horizon to the north. Quintal straightened
his back and turned to glance at the distant wall of darkness, rising and
widening as it advanced upon the ship.
Christian came up the ladderway. He was freshly shaven and wore a plain
blue coat. The tropical sun had burned his face to a shade darker than
those of the girls on the hatch. The poise of his strong figure and the
moulding of his mouth and jaw were the outward signs of a character
instant in decision, resolute, and quick to act. His black eyes, deep-set
and brilliant, were fixed on the approaching squall.
"Smith!" he called.
A brawny young seaman, who had been standing by the mainmast, hastened
aft, touching his turban of _marae_ cloth.
"Clew up the courses, and make ready to catch what water you can."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Smith went forward, shouting: "All hands, here! Shorten sail!"
A group of white seamen appeared from the forecastle. The brown men
turned quickly from the rail, and several of the girls stood up. "To your
stations!" Smith ordered. "Fore and main courses--let go sheets and
tacks! Clew lines--up with the clews!"
The lower extremities of the two large sails rose to the quarters of the
yards, the native men and half a dozen lusty girls shouting and laughing
as they put their backs into the work. Smith turned to the seaman nearest
him.
"McCoy! Take Martin and rig the awning to catch water. Look alive!"
Christian had been pacing the quarter-deck, with an eye on the blackening
sky to the north. "To the braces, Smith!" he now ordered. "Put her on the
larboard tack."
"Braces it is, sir."
Edward Young, the second-in-command, was standing in the ladder-way--a
man of twenty-four, with a clear, ruddy complexion and a sensitive face,
marred by the loss of several front teeth. He had gone off watch only two
hours before and his eyes were still heavy with sleep.
"It has a dirty look," he remarked.
"Only a squall; I'm leaving the topsails on her. By God! It will ease my
mind to fill our casks! I can't believe that Carteret was mistaken in his
latitude, but it is well known that his timekeeper was unreliable. We're
a hundred miles east of his longitude now."
Young smiled faintly. "I'm beginning to doubt the existence of his
Pitcairn's Island," he remarked. "When was it discovered?"
"In 1767, when he was in command of the _Swallow_, under Commodore
Byron. He sighted the island at a distance of fifteen leagues, and
described it as having the appearance of a great rock, no more than five
miles in circumference. It is densely wooded, he says in his account of
the voyage, and a stream of fresh water was observed, coursing down the
cliffs."
"Did he land?"
"No. There was a great surf running. They got soundings on the west side,
in twenty-five fathoms, something less than a mile from the shore...The
island must be somewhere hereabout. I mean to search until we find it."
He was silent for a moment before he added: "Are the people complaining?"
"Some of them are growing more than restless."
Christian's face darkened. "Let them murmur," he said. "They shall do as
I say, nevertheless."
The squall was now close, concealing the horizon from west to north. The
air began to move uneasily; next moment the _Bounty_ lurched and
staggered as the first puff struck her. The topsails filled with sounds
like the reports of cannon: the sun was blotted out and the wind screamed
through the rigging in gusts that were half air, half stinging,
horizontal rain.
"Hard a-starboard!" Christian ordered the helmsman quietly. "Ease her!"
Quintal's great hairy hands turned the spokes rapidly. In the sudden
darkness and above the tumult of the wind, the voices of the native women
rose faint and thin, like the cries of sea fowl. The ship was righting
herself as she began to forge ahead and the force of the wind diminished.
In ten minutes the worst was over, and presently the _Bounty_ lay
becalmed once more, this time in a deluge of vertical rain. It fell in
blinding, suffocating streams, and the sound of it, plashing and
murmuring on the sea, was enough to drown a man's voice. Fresh water
spouted from the awnings, and as fast as one cask was filled another was
trundled into its place. Men and women alike, stripped to their kilts of
tapa, were scrubbing one another's backs with bits of porous, volcanic
stone.
Within an hour the clouds had dispersed, and the sun, now well above the
horizon, was drying the _Bounty's_ decks. A line of rippling dark
blue appeared to the southwest. The yards were braced on the other tack,
and the ship was soon moving on her course once more.
Young had gone below. Christian was standing at the weather rail, gazing
out over the empty sea with an expression sombre and stern beyond his
years. In the presence of others, his features were composed, but
oftentimes when alone he sank into involuntary reflections on what was
past and what might lie ahead.
A tall young girl came up the ladderway, walked lightly to his side, and
laid a hand on his shoulder. Maimiti was not past eighteen at this time.
Of high lineage on Tahiti, she had left lands, retainers, and relatives
to share the dubious fortunes of her English lover. The delicacy of her
hands and small bare feet, the lightness of her complexion, and the
contours of her high-bred face set her apart from the other women on the
ship. As she touched his shoulder, Christian's face softened.
"Shall we find the land to-day?" she asked.
"I hope so; it cannot be far off."
Leaning on the bulwarks at Christian's side, Maimiti made no reply. Her
mood at the moment was one of eager anticipation. The blood of seafaring
ancestors was in her veins, and this voyage of discovery, into distant
seas of which her people preserved only legendary accounts, was an
adventure to her taste.
Forward, in the shadow of the windlass, where they could converse
unobserved, two white men sat in earnest talk. McCoy was a Scot who bore
an Irish name--a thin, bony man with thick reddish hair and a long neck
on which the Adam's apple stood out prominently. His companion was Isaac
Martin, an American. Finding himself in London when the _Bounty_ was
fitting out, Martin had managed to speak with her sailing master in a
public house, and had deserted his own ship for the prospect of a cruise
in the South Sea. He was a dark brutish man of thirty or thereabouts,
with a weak face and black brows that met over his nose.
"We've give him time enough, Will," he said sourly. "There's no such
bloody island, if ye ask me! And if there is, it's nowheres hereabout."
"Aye, we're on a wild-goose chase, and no mistake."
"Well, then, it's time we let him know we're sick o' drifting about the
like o' this! Mills says so, and Matt Quintal's with us. Brown'll do as
we tell him. Ye'll never talk Alex over; Christian's God Almighty to him!
I reckon Jack Williams has had enough, like the rest. That'll make six of
us to the three o' them. What's the name o' that island we raised, out to
the west?"
"Rarotonga, the Indians said."
"Aye. That's the place! And many a fine lass ashore, I'll warrant. If we
do find this Pitcairn's Island, it'll be nothing but a bloody rock, with
no women but them we've fetched with us. Twelve for fifteen men!"
McCoy nodded. "We've no lasses enough. There'll be trouble afore we're
through if we hae no more."
"In Rarotonga we could have the pick o' the place. It's time we made him
take us there, whether he likes it or not!"
"Make him! God's truth! Ye're a brave-spoken fellow, Isaac, when there's
none to hear ye!"
Martin broke off abruptly as he perceived that Smith had come up behind
him unaware. He was a powerfully made man in his early twenties, under
the middle stature, and with a face slightly pitted with smallpox. His
countenance was, nevertheless, a pleasing one, open and frank, with an
aquiline nose, a firm mouth, and blue eyes set widely apart, expressing
at the same time good humour and self-confident strength. He stood with
brawny tattooed arms folded across his chest, gazing at his two shipmates
with an ironic smile. Martin gave him a wry look.
"Aye, Alex," he grumbled, "it's yourself and Jack Williams has kept us
drifting about the empty sea this fortnight past. If ye'd backed us up,
we'd ha' forced Christian to take us out o' this long since."
Smith turned to McCoy. "Hearken to him, Will! Isaac's the man to tell Mr.
Christian his business. _He_ knows where we'd best go! What d'ye
say, shall we make him captain?"
"There's this must be said, Alex," remarked McCoy apologetically, "we're
three months from Tahiti, and it's nigh three weeks we've spent looking
for this Pitcairn's Island! How does he know there's such a place?"
"Damn your eyes! D'ye think Mr. Christian'd be such a fool as to search
for a place that wasn't there? I'll warrant he'll find it before the
week's out."
"And if he don't, what then?" Martin asked.
"Ask him yourself, Isaac. I reckon he'll tell 'ee fast enough." The
conversation was interrupted by a hail from aloft, where the lookout
stood on the fore-topmast crosstrees.
"Aye, man, what d'ye see?" roared Smith.
"Birds. A cloud of 'em, dead ahead."
Pacing the after deck with Maimiti, Christian halted at the words. "Run
down and fetch my spyglass," he said to the girl.
A moment later he was climbing the ratlines, telescope in hand. One of
the native men had preceded him aloft. His trained eyes made out the
distant birds at a glance and then swept the horizon north and south.
"Terns," he said, as Christian lowered his glass. "There are albacore
yonder. The land will be close."
Christian nodded. "The ship sails slowly," he remarked. "Launch a canoe
and try to catch some fish. You and two others."
The native climbed down swiftly to the deck, calling to his companions:
"Fetch our rods, and the sinnet for the outrigger!"
The people off watch gathered while the Polynesian men fetched from the
forecastle their stout rods of bamboo, equipped with handmade lines and
curious lures of mother-of-pearl. The cross-booms were already fast to
the outrigger float; they laid them on the gunwales of the long, sharp
dugout canoe, and made them fast with a few quick turns of cord. They
lowered her over the side, and a moment later she glided swiftly ahead of
the ship.
The _Bounty_ held her course, moving languidly over the calm sea.
The canoe drew ahead fast, but at the end of an hour the ship was again
abreast. One man was angling while the two paddlers drove the light
vessel back and forth in the midst of a vast shoal of albacore. A cloud
of sea birds hovered overhead, the gannets diving with folded wings,
while the black noddy-terns fluttered down in companies each time the
fish drove the small fry to the surface. Schools of tiny mullet and squid
skipped this way and that in frenzied fear, snapped at by the fierce
albacore below and the eager beaks of the birds. The angler stood in the
stern of the canoe, trailing his lure of pearl shell far aft in the wake.
Time after time the watchers on the ship saw the stiff rod bend suddenly
as he braced himself to heave a struggling albacore of thirty or forty
pounds into the canoe.
While the people of the _Bounty_ gazed eagerly on this spectacle,
one of the native men began to kindle a fire for cooking the fish. It was
plain that there would be enough and to spare for all hands. Presently
the canoe came alongside and two or three dozen large albacore were
tossed on deck. Alexander Smith had relieved the man at the masthead, and
now, while all hands were making ready for a meal, he hailed the deck
exultantly: "Land ho-o-o!"
Men and women sprang into the rigging to stare ahead. Christian again
went aloft, to settle himself beside Smith and focus his telescope on the
horizon before the ship. The southerly swell caused an undulation along
the line where sea met sky, but at one point, directly ahead, the moving
line was interrupted. A triangle, dark and so infinitely small that none
but the keenest of eyes could have made it out, rose above the sea. With
an arm about the mast and his glass well braced, Christian gazed ahead
for some time.
"By God, Smith!" he remarked. "You've a pair of eyes!"
The young seaman smiled. "Will it be Pitcairn's Island, sir?" he asked.
"I believe so," replied Christian absently.
The land was still far distant. The wind freshened toward midday, and
after their dinner of fish all hands gazed ahead at the rugged island
mounting steadily above the horizon. The natives, incapable of concern
over the future, regarded the spectacle with pleased interest, but among
the white men there was more than one sullen and gloomy face.
While the island changed form as it rose higher and higher before the
ship, Christian sat in his cabin on the lower deck. With him were two of
the Polynesian men, leaders of the others, whom he had asked to meet him
there.
Minarii, a native of Tahiti, was a man of huge frame, with a bold, stern
countenance and the assured, easy bearing of a man of rank. His voice was
deep and powerful, his body covered with tattooing in curious and
intricate designs, and his thick, iron-grey hair confined by a turban of
white _marae_ cloth. His companion, Tetahiti, was a young chief from
Tupuai, who had left his island because of the friendship he felt for
Christian, and because he knew that this same friendship would have cost
him his life had he remained behind when the ship set sail. The people of
Tupuai were bitterly hostile to the whites; good fortune alone had
enabled the mutineers to leave the island without loss of life. Tetahiti
was a powerfully made man, though of slighter build than Minarii; his
features were more gently moulded, and his expression less severe. Both
had been told that the _Bounty_ was seeking an island where a
settlement might be formed; now Christian was explaining to them the true
state of affairs. They waited for him to speak.
"Minarii, Tetahiti," he said at last, "there is something I want you two
and the other Maoris to know. We have been shipmates; if the land ahead
of us proves hospitable, we shall soon be close neighbours ashore. For
reasons of policy, I have not felt free to tell you the whole truth till
now. Too much talk is not good on shipboard. You understand?"
They nodded, waiting for him to proceed.
"Bligh, who told the people of Tahiti that he was Captain Cook's son,
lied to them. He was not a chief in his own land, nor had he the fairness
and dignity of a chief. Raised to a position of authority, he became
haughty, tyrannical, and cruel. You must have heard tales in Tahiti of
how he punished his men by whipping them till the blood ran down their
hacks. His conduct to all grew unbearable. As captain, he drew his
authority direct from King George, and used it to starve his crew in the
midst of plenty, and to abuse his officers while the men under them stood
close by."
Minarii smiled grimly. "I understand," he said. "You killed him and took
the ship."
"No. I resolved to seize the ship, put him in irons, and let our King
judge between us. But the men had suffered too much at Bligh's hands. For
sixteen moons they had been treated as no Maori would treat his dog, and
their blood was hot. To save Bligh's life, I put the large boat overboard
and sent him into her, with certain men who wished to go with him. We
gave them food and water, and I hope for the sake of the others that
they may reach England. As for us, our action has made us outlaws to be
hunted down, and when our King learns of it he will send a ship to search
this sea. You and the others knew that we were looking for an island,
remote and little known, on which to settle; now you know the reason. We
have found the island. Minarii, shall you be content to remain there? If
the place is suitable, we go no further."
The chief nodded slightly. "I shall be content," he said.
"And you, Tetahiti?"
"I can never return to my own land," the other replied. "Where you lead,
I shall follow."
Four bells had sounded when Christian came on deck, and the _Bounty_
was drawing near the land. At a distance of about a league, it bore from
east-by-north to east-by-south, and presented the appearance of a tall
ridge, with a small peak at either end. The southern peak rose to a
height of not less than a thousand feet and sloped more gently to the
sea; its northern neighbour was flanked by dizzy precipices, against
which the waves broke and spouted high. Two watercourses, smothered in
rich vegetation, made their way down to the sea, and midway between the
peaks a slender thread of white marked where a cascade plunged over a
cliff. The coast was studded with forbidding rocks, those to the north
and south rising high above the spray of breaking seas. Clouds of sea
fowl passed this way and that above the ship, regarding the intruders on
their solitude with incurious eyes. Everywhere, save on the precipices
where the birds reared their young, the island was of the richest green,
for vegetation flourished luxuriantly on its volcanic soil, watered by
abundant rains. No feature of the place escaped the native passengers,
and exclamations of surprise and pleasure came from where they were
grouped at the rail.
The leadsman began to call off the depths as the water shoaled. They had
thirty fathoms when the northern extremity of the island was still half a
mile distant, and Christian ordered the sails trimmed so that the ship
might steer southeast along the coast. The wind was cut off as she drew
abreast of the northern peak; the _Bounty_ moved slowly on,
propelled by the cat's-paws that came down off the land. The shore, about
four cables distant, rose steeply to a height of two hundred feet or
more, and there was scarcely a man on board who did not exclaim at the
prospect now revealed. Between the westerly mountains and others
perceived to the east lay a broad, gently sloping hollow, broken by small
valleys and framed on three sides by ridges and peaks. Here were many
hundreds of acres of rich wooded land, sheltered on all sides but the
northern one.
The sea was calm. Before an hour had passed, the sails were dewed up and
the _Bounty_ dropped anchor in twenty fathoms, off a cove where it
seemed that a boat might land and the steep green bluffs be scaled.
Standing on the quarter-deck, Christian turned to Young. "I fancy we
shall find no better landing place, though we have not seen the southern
coast. I shall take three of the Indians and explore it now. Stand
offshore if the wind shifts; we can fend for ourselves."
The smaller canoe was soon over the side, with Tetahiti and two other men
as paddlers. Christian seated himself in the bow, and the natives sent
the little vessel gliding swiftly away from the ship. Passing between an
isolated rock and the cape at the eastern extremity of the cove, the
canoe skirted the foot of a small wooded valley, where huge old trees
rose above an undergrowth of ferns and flowering shrubs. The pandanus, or
screw pine, grew everywhere above the water's edge, its thorny leaves
drenched in salt spray and its blossoms imparting a delicious fragrance
to the air. Presently they rounded the easternmost cape of the island,
which fell precipitously into the sea, here studded with great rocks
about which the surges broke.
As the canoe turned westward, a shallow, half-moon bay revealed itself to
Christian's eyes. The southerly swell broke with great violence here, on
a narrow beach of sand at the foot of perpendicular cliffs, unscalable
without the aid of ropes let down from above. A cloud of sea fowl hovered
along the face of the cliffs, so high overhead that their cries were
inaudible in the lulls of the breakers.
"An ill place!" said Tetahiti, as the canoe rose high on a swell and the
beach was seen, half-veiled by smoking seas. "No man could climb out,
though a lizard might."
"Keep on," ordered Christian. "Let us see what is beyond."
The southern coast of the island was iron-bound everywhere, set with
jagged rocks offshore and rising in precipices scarcely less stupendous
than those flanking the half-moon bay. On the western side there was a
small indentation where a boat might have effected a landing in calm
weather, but when they had completed the circuit of the island Christian
knew that the cove off which the ship lay at anchor offered the only
feasible landing place.
The sun was setting as he came on board the _Bounty_; he ordered the
anchor up and the sails loosed to stand off to windward for the night.
CHAPTER II
At dawn the following morning the island bore north, distant about three
leagues. Close-hauled, on the larboard tack, the ship slid smoothly
through the calm sea, and toward seven o'clock she passed the
southeastern extremity of the island. About half a mile to the northwest,
after rounding this point, was the shallow indentation where the
_Bounty_ had been anchored the previous day. Sounding continuously,
with lookouts aloft and in the bows, she approached the land and again
came to anchor half a mile from the beach, in seventeen fathoms.
Christian and Young stood together on the quarter-deck while the sails
were clewed up and furled. With his spyglass Christian examined the
foreshore carefully. Presently he turned to his companion.
"I shall be on shore the greater part of the day," he said. "In case of
any change in the weather, heave short and be ready to stand off."
"Yes, sir."
"We are fortunate in having this southwesterly breeze; I only pray that
it may hold."
"It will, never doubt it," Young replied. "The sky promises that."
"Be good enough to have one of the Indian canoes put into the water."
This order was quickly complied with, and a few minutes later Christian,
taking with him Minarii, Alexander Smith, Brown, the gardener, and two of
the women, Maimiti and Moetua, set off for the beach. Minarii sat at the
steering paddle. The bay was strewn with huge boulders against which the
sea broke violently. To the right and left, walls of rock fell all but
sheer to the cove, but midway along it they discovered a ribbon of
shingly beach, the only spot where a boat might be landed in safety.
Steering with great skill, directing the movements of the paddlers and
watching the following seas, Minarii guided the canoe toward this spot.
They waited for some time just beyond the break of the surf, then,
seizing a favourable opportunity, they came in on the crest of a long
wave, and, immediately the canoe had grounded, they sprang out and drew
it up beyond reach of the surf.
Directly before them rose a steep, heavily wooded slope, the broken-down
remnant of what must once have been a wall of rock. Casuarina trees, some
of them of immense size, grew here and there, the lacy foliage
continually wet with spray. Coconut palms and the screw pine raised their
tufted tops above the tangle of vegetation, and ferns of many varieties
grew in the dense shade. For a moment the members of the party gazed
about them without speaking; then Maimiti, with an exclamation of
pleasure, made her way quickly to a bush that grew in a cleft among the
rocks. She returned with a branch covered with glossy leaves and small
white blossoms of a waxlike texture. She held them against her face,
breathing in their delicate fragrance.
"It is the _tefano_," she said, turning to Christian. Moetua was
equally delighted, and the two women immediately gathered an armful of
the blossoms and sat down to make wreaths for their hair.
"We shall be happy in this place," said Moetua. "See! There are pandanus
trees and the _aito_ and _purau_ everywhere. Almost it might be
Tahiti itself."
"But when you look seaward it is not like Tahiti," Maimiti added
wistfully. "There is no reef. We shall miss our still lagoons. And where
are the rivers? There can be none, surely, on so small an island that
falls so steeply to the sea."
"No," said Christian. "We shall find no rivers like those of Tahiti; but
there will be brooks in some of these ravines. What do you think,
Minarii?"
The Tahitian nodded. "We shall not lack for water," he said. "It is a
good land; the thick bush growing even here among the rocks proves that.
Our taro and yams and sweet potatoes will do well in this soil. We may
even find them growing here in a wild state; and there are sure to be
plantains in the ravines."
Christian threw back his head, gazing at the green wall of vegetation
rising so steeply above them. "We shall have work and to spare in
clearing the land for our plantations," he said.
"I'll take to it kindly, for one," Smith replied warmly. "It does my
heart good to smell the land again. Brown and me is a pair will be
pleased to quit ship here, if that's your mind, sir. Eh, Will?"
The gardener nodded. "Shall we stop, sir?" he asked. "Is this Pit-cairn's
Island, do ye think?"
"I'm convinced of it," Christian replied. "It is far off the position
marked for it on Captain Carteret's chart, but it must be the island he
sighted. Whether we shall stay remains to be seen."
The women had now finished making their wreaths. They pressed them down
over their thick black hair, which hung loosely over their shoulders.
Christian gazed at them admiringly, thinking he had never seen a more
beautiful sight than those two made in their kirtles of tapa cloth, with
flecks of sunlight and shadows of leaves moving as the wind would have it
across their faces and their slim brown bodies. Maimiti rose quickly.
"Let us go on," she said. "I am eager to see what lies beyond."
The party, led by Minarii, was soon toiling up the ridge, the natives,
Smith among them, far in advance. Christian and Brown followed at a more
leisurely pace, stopping now and then to examine the trees and plants
around them. The ascent was steep indeed, and in places they found it
necessary to pull themselves up by the roots of trees and bushes. Two
hundred feet of steady climbing brought them to a gentler slope. Here the
others were awaiting them.
Before them stretched a densely wooded country that seemed all but level,
at first, after the steep climb to reach it. Far below was the sea, its
colour of the deepest blue under the cloudless sky. In a southerly
direction the land rose gently for a considerable distance, then with a
steeper ascent as it approached the ridge which bounded their view on
that side. To the northwest another ridge could be seen, culminating at
either end in a mountain peak green to the summit, but the one to the
north showed sections of bare perpendicular wall on the seaward side. The
land before them was like a great plateau rather than a valley, traversed
by half a dozen ravines, and lying at an angle, its high side resting
upon the main southern ridge of the island, its lower side upon the
cliffs that fronted the sea. The ridges to the west and south rose, as
nearly as they could judge, five or six hundred feet above the place
where they stood.
"That peak to the southwest must be all of a thousand feet above the
sea," said Christian.
"Aye, sir," Smith replied. "We'll be high and safe here, that's sure.
Ye'd little think, from below, there's such good land."
At a little distance before them the ground fell away to a small
watercourse so heavily shaded by great trees that scarcely a ray of
sunlight penetrated. Here they found a tiny stream of clear water and
gladly halted to refresh themselves. Christian now divided his party.
"Minarii, do you and Moetua bear off to the left and climb the main ridge
yonder. Smith, you and Brown follow the rise of the land to the westward;
we must know what lies beyond. I will proceed along this northern rim of
the island. Let us meet toward midday, farther along, somewhere below the
peak you see before us. The island is so small that we can hardly go
astray."
They then separated. Keeping the sea within view on the right, Christian
proceeded with Maimiti in a northwesterly direction. Now and then they
caught glimpses through the foliage of the mountain that rose before
them, heavily wooded to the topmost pinnacle, but descending in sheer
walls of rock on the seaward side. Save for the heavy booming of the
surf, far below, the silence of the place seemed never to have been
broken since the beginning of time; but a few moments later, as they were
resting, seated on the trunk of a fallen tree, they heard a faint
bird-call, often repeated, that seemed to come from far away. They were
surprised to discover the bird itself, a small dust-coloured creature
with a whitish breast, quite near at hand, darting among the undergrowth
as it uttered its lonely monotonous cry. They saw no other land birds, no
living creatures, in fact, save for a small brown rat, and a tiny
iridescent lizard scurrying over the dead leaves or peering at them with
bright eyes from the limbs of trees. Of a sudden Maimiti halted.
"There have been people here before us," she said.
"Here? Nonsense, Maimiti! What makes you think so?"
"I know it," she replied gravely. "It must have been long ago, but there
was once a path where we are now walking."
Christian smiled incredulously. "I can't believe it," he said. "Because
you are not of our blood," the girl replied. "But Moetua would know, or
Minarii. I felt this as we were climbing up from the landing place. Now I
am sure of it. People of my own race have lived here at some time."
"Why have they gone, then?"
"Who knows?" she replied. "Perhaps it is not a happy place."
"Not happy? An island so rich and beautiful?"
"The people may have brought some old unhappiness with them. It is not
often the land that is to blame; it is those who come."
"You can't be right, Maimiti," Christian said, after a moment of silence.
"What could have brought them so far from any other land?"
"It is not only you white men with your great ships who make long
voyages," she replied. "There is no land in all this great ocean that
people of my blood have not found before you. Even here they have come."
"Perhaps...Don't you think we shall be happy here?" he asked presently.
"You're not sorry we came?"
"No..." She hesitated. "But it is so far away...Shall we never go back to
Tahiti?"
Christian shook his head. "Never. I told you that before we came," he
added gently.
"I know..." She glanced up with a wistful smile, her eyes misted with
tears. "You must not mind if I think of Tahiti sometimes."
"Mind? Of course I shall not mind!...But we shall be happy here, Maimiti.
I am sure of it. The land is strange to us now; but soon we shall have
our houses built, and when our children come it will be home to us. You
will never be sad, then."
The relationship between Christian and this daughter of Polynesian
aristocrats was no casual or superficial one. It was an attachment that
had its beginning shortly after the _Bounty's_ first arrival at
Tahiti, and which had deepened day by day during the months the vessel
remained there, assembling her cargo of young breadfruit trees. During
the long sojourn on the island, Christian had made a serious effort to
learn the native speech, with such success that he was now able to
converse in it with considerable fluency. The language difficulty
overcome, he had discovered that Maimiti was far more than the simple,
unreflecting child of nature that he had, at first, supposed; but it was
not until the time came when it was necessary for her to choose between
him and giving up, forever, family and friends and all that had hitherto
made life dear to her that he realized the depth of her loyalty and
affection. There had been no hesitation on her part in deciding which it
should be.
Presently she turned toward him again, making an attempt to smile. "Let
us go on," she said. She took Christian's hand, as though for protection
against the strangeness and silence of the place, and they proceeded
slowly, peering into the thickets on either side, stopping frequently to
explore some small glade where the dense foliage of the trees had
prevented the undergrowth from thriving. Of a sudden Maimiti halted and
gazed overhead. "Look!" she exclaimed. "_Itatae!_"
Coming from seaward, outlined in exquisite purity against the blue sky,
were two snow-white terns. They watched them in silence for a moment.
"These are the birds I love most of all," said Maimiti. "Do you remember
them at Tahiti? Always you see two together."
Christian nodded. "How close they come!" he said. "They seem to know
you."
"Of course they know me! Have I never told you how I chose the
_itatae_ for my own birds when I was a little girl? Oh, the
beautiful things! You will see: within a week I shall have them eating
out of my hand."
She now looked about her with increasing interest and pleasure, pointing
out to Christian various plants and trees and flowers familiar to her.
Presently a parklike expanse, shaded by trees immemorially old, opened
before them. On their right hand stood a gigantic banyan tree whose roots
covered a great area of ground. Passing beyond this and descending the
slope for a little way, they came to a knoll only a short distance above
the place where the land fell steeply to the sea. It was an enchanting
spot, fragrant with the odours of growing, blossoming things, and cooled
by the breeze that rustled through the foliage of great trees that hemmed
it in on the seaward side. Beyond, to the north, they looked across a
narrow valley to the mountain which cut off the view in that direction.
Christian turned to his companion.
"Maimiti, this is the spot I would choose for our home."
She nodded. "I wished you to say that! It is the very place!"
"All of our houses can be scattered along this northern slope," he added,
"and we are certain to find water in one of these small valleys."
Maimiti was now as light-hearted as she had been sad a little time
before. They sat down on a grassy knoll and talked eagerly of plans for
the future, of the precise spot where their house should stand; of the
paths to be made through the forests, of the gardens to be planted, and
the like. At length they rose, and, crossing the deeply shaded expanse
above, they came to a breadfruit tree which towered above the surrounding
forest. It was the first they had seen. Another smaller tree had sprung
from one of its roots, and by means of this Maimiti climbed quickly to
the lower branches of the great one, which was loaded with fruit. She
twisted off a dozen or more of the large green globes, tossing them down
to Christian.
"We shall have a feast to-day," she called down. "Did you bring your
fire-maker?"
Christian brought forth his flint and steel; they gathered twigs and
leaves and dry sticks, and when the fire was burning briskly they placed
the fruit in the midst of it to roast. When the rough green rinds had
been blackened all round, they left the breadfruit among the hot ashes
and again set out to explore further. Upon returning, an hour later, they
found Minarii and Moetua squatting by the fire roasting sea birds' eggs
which they had collected along the tops of the cliffs beyond the southern
ridge. And Minarii had brought a cluster of green drinking coconuts and a
bunch of fine plantains he had found in the depths of the valley.
"We shall eat well to-day," he said. "It is a rich land we have found. We
have no need to seek further."
"So I think," Christian replied. "Did you climb the ridge to the
south'ard?"
"Yes. There is good land beyond, better even than that in this valley. I
was surprised to find it so; but on this side is where we should live."
"That is good news, Minarii," Christian replied. "I, too, supposed that
the sea lay directly below the southern ridge. How wide are the lands
beyond?"
"In some places they extend for all of five or six hundred paces, sloping
gently down from the ridge to the high cliffs that front the sea."
"Have you found any streams?"
"One. It is small, but the water is good."
"We shall not lack for sea fowls' eggs," said Moetua. "All the cliffs on
that southern side are filled with crannies where they nest. I collected
these in little time, but there is danger in gathering them; it made my
eyes swim to look below."
It was now getting on toward midday, but the lofty trees spread for them
their grateful shade, and the breeze, though light, was refreshingly
cool. While preparations for the meal went forward, Christian again
strolled to the seaward side of the plateau, where he had a view of the
full half-circle of the horizon. Far below, to the east, he could see the
_Bounty_, looking small indeed under the cliffs, against the wide
background of empty sea. Her anchors were holding well. Having satisfied
himself that the ship had maintained her position, he seated himself with
his back to a tree, hands clasped around his knees, and remained thus
until he heard Maimiti's voice calling him from above. He rose and went
slowly back to the others.
Their meal was under way before Smith and Brown appeared. Both were
enthusiastic over what they had found.
"It's as fine a little place as ever I see, Mr. Christian," Smith said,
warmly. "We climbed to the top of that peak, yonder."
"How much land is there beyond the western ridge?"
"Little enough, sir, and what there is, is all rocks and gullies."
Christian turned to Brown. "What have you found in the way of useful
plants and trees?"
"I needn't speak of the coconut palms and the pandanus, sir. Ye've seen
for yourself that there's more than enough for our needs. Then there's
miro and sandalwood, and the _tutui_..."
"The candlenut? There is a useful find indeed!"
"There's a good few scattered about; and the _miro_, as ye know, is
a fine wood for house-building. As for food plants, it's as well we've a
stock on board. We've found wild yams and a kind of taro, but little
else."
"You could overlook the whole of the island from the peak?"
"Aye, sir," Smith replied.
"What would you say of its extent, judging roughly?"
"It can't be much over two miles long, sir, if that; and about half as
wide. What do ye think, Will?"
"Aye, it's about that," the gardener replied. "There's a fine grove of
breadfruit on the shelf of land ye can see from here, sir, but I'm as
glad we brought some young trees with us. We've varieties I didn't see,
here, in looking about this morning."
"Have you found any evidence that people have been here before us?"
"To say the truth, sir, I never even thought of that," Brown replied. "Ye
don't mean white men, Mr. Christian?" Smith asked. "No. We are the first,
I am sure, who have ever landed here; but Maimiti thinks Indians have
once inhabited the place."
"If they did, it must have been long ago. Never a trace did we see of
anything of the kind."
Christian now turned to Minarii, addressing him in the native tongue.
"Minarii, is it possible, do you think, that Maoris have ever visited
this land?"
"_É_," he remarked, quietly. "There has been a settlement here,
where we now are. It is the place that would have been chosen for a
village, and that great banyan tree has been planted. The breadfruit as
well."
Maimiti turned to Christian. "You see?" she said. "Did I not tell you
so?"
Christian smiled, incredulously. "I have great respect for your judgment,
Minarii," he said, "but in this case I am sure you are wrong. Before us
sea birds alone have inhabited this land."
Minarii inserted his hand into the twist of tapa at his waist and drew
forth a small stone adze, beautifully made and ground to perfect
smoothness. "Then the sea fowl brought that?" he asked.
It was late afternoon when the party returned to the ship. Smith and
Brown went forward, where they were surrounded at once by the other
seamen, eager for a report of conditions ashore. Christian retired to his
cabin and supped there, alone. Toward sunset he joined Young on deck. For
some time he paced up and down, then halted by his companion, who stood
at the rail gazing at the high slopes before them, all golden now in the
light of the sinking sun.
"We will call this 'Bounty Bay,' Mr. Young, unless you have a better
suggestion?"
"I was thinking that 'Christian's Landing' would be a suitable name,
sir."
Christian shook his head. "I wish my name to be attached to nothing
here," he said, "not even to one of those rocks offshore. Tell me," he
added, "now that we have found the place, how do you feel about it?"
"That we might have searched the Pacific over without having discovered a
more suitable one."
"There is no real anchorage here," Christian went on. "The place where we
lie is the best the island affords. You can imagine what this cove will
be in a northerly blow. No ship would be safe for ten minutes in such an
exposed position. You realize what a decision to remain here means? Our
voyages are over until our last day."
"That is of course, sir," Young replied, quietly.
"And you are content that it shall be so?"
"Quite."
Christian turned his head and gave him a swift, scrutinizing glance. When
he spoke again it was not as the _Bounty's_ captain addressing an
inferior officer. There was a friendly gleam in his eyes, and a note of
appeal in his voice.
"Old friend," he said, "from this time on, let there be no more ship's
formality between us. The success or failure of the little colony we
shall plant here depends largely upon us. I shall need your help badly,
and it may be that you will need mine. Whatever happens, let us stand by
each other."
"That we shall," Young replied warmly, "and there is my hand upon it."
Christian seized and pressed it cordially. "We have rough men to handle,"
he continued. "It was to be expected that the more unruly ones should
have come here with me...Tell me frankly, why did you come? There was no
need. You took no part in the mutiny; you might have remained on Tahiti
with the other innocent men to wait for a ship to take you home. Once
there, a court-martial would certainly have vindicated you."
"Let me assure you of this," Young replied, "I have never regretted my
decision."
Christian turned again to look at him. "You mean that," he said, "I can
see that you do. And yet, when I think what you have given up to throw in
your lot with me..."
"Do you remember Van Diemen's Land," Young asked, "where Bligh had me
seized up at one of the guns and flogged?"
"I am not likely to forget that," Christian replied, grimly.
"I was a mutineer at heart from that day," Young went on. "I have never
told you of this, but, had there been an opportunity, I would have
deserted the ship before we sailed from Tahiti--for home, as we then
thought. As you know, I slept through the whole of the mutiny. When I was
awakened and ordered on deck, the thing was done. Bligh and those who
went with him had been cast adrift, and the launch was far astern. Had I
known in advance what you meant to do..." He paused. "I will not say,
Christian, that I would have given you my active support. I think I
should have lacked the courage..."
"Let us speak no more of that," Christian interrupted. "You are here. You
little know what comfort that thought brings me...I was thinking," he
added presently, "what a paradise Pitcairn's Island might prove, could we
have chosen our companions here. We have an opportunity such as chance
rarely grants to men--to form a little world cut off from the rest of
mankind, and to rear our children in complete ignorance of any life save
what they will find on this small island."
Young nodded. "Whom would you have chosen, could you have had your wish,
from the _Bounty's_ original company?"
"I prefer not to think of the matter," Christian replied, gloomily. "We
must do what we can with those we have. The Indians are fine fellows,
with one or, perhaps, two exceptions. I have few regrets concerning them.
As for the men of our own blood..." He broke off, leaving the sentence
unfinished.
"Brown and Alex Smith might have been chosen in any event," Young
remarked.
"I should have excepted them. They are good men, both."
"And their respect and admiration for you are very near idolatry," Young
added, with a faint smile. "That of Smith in particular; you've a loyal
henchman there."
"I'm glad you think so. I've a great liking for Smith. What do you know
of him? Where does he come from?"
"I've learned more about him these past three months than I did during
the whole of the voyage out from England. He was a lighterman on the
Thames at the time Bligh was signing on the _Bounty_ men, but he
hated the business and was only waiting for a suitable opportunity to go
to sea again. He has told me that his true name is Adams, John Adams, and
that he was born and reared in a foundling home near London."
"Adams, you say? That's curious! Why did he change his name?"
"He volunteered no information on that score, and I didn't feel free to
question him."
"No, naturally not. Well, whatever scrape he may have been in, I'll
warrant there was nothing mean or underhanded in his share of it."
"I'd be willing to take my oath on that," Young replied, heartily. "He's
rough and uncouth, but you can depend upon him. He hasn't a tricky or a
dishonest bone in his body."
"There is a decision we must make soon," Christian said, after a moment
of silence. "It concerns the vessel."
"You mean to destroy her?"
"Yes. Do you agree to the plan?"
"Heartily."
"There is nothing else we can do, the island being what it is; but I want
the suggestion to come from the men themselves. They must soon see the
necessity, if they have not already."
"Supposing there were a safe anchorage?"
"Not even then should I have wanted to keep her. No, we must burn all
bridges behind us. I fancy there is not a lonelier island in the Pacific,
and yet the place is known, and there is always the possibility of its
being visited. A ship can't be concealed, but once we are rid of the
_Bounty_ we can so place our settlement that no evidence of it will
appear from the sea. The landing is a dangerous one and not likely to be
attempted by any vessel that may pass this way; certainly not if the
place is thought to be uninhabited. We shall have little to fear, once we
are rid of the vessel."
"May I make a suggestion?"
"Please do. Speak your mind to me at all times."
"The men are impatient, I know, to learn of your plans. Would it not be
well to tell them, to-night, how the island impresses you?"
Christian reflected for a moment. "Good. I agree," he said. "Call them
aft, will you?"
He paced the quarter-deck while Young was carrying out this order. The
men, both white and brown, gathered in a half-circle by the mizzenmast to
await Christian's pleasure. The women assembled behind them, peering over
their shoulders and talking in subdued voices. It was a strange ship's
company that gathered on the _Bounty's_ deck to listen to the words
of their leader.
"Before anything more is done," he began, "I wish to be sure that you are
satisfied with this island as a home for us. You were all agreed that we
should search for the place, and that, if we found it suitable, we should
settle here. You will have learned from your shipmates who went ashore
with me what the island has to offer us. Remember, if we go ashore, we go
to stay. If any object, now is the time to speak."
There was an immediate response from several of the men.
"I'm for stopping, Mr. Christian."
"It's a snug little place. We couldn't wish for better, sir." Mills was
the first of the dissenting party to speak.
"It's not my notion of a snug little place."
"Why not?" Christian asked.
Addressed thus directly by his commanding officer, Mills shifted from one
foot to the other, scowling uneasily at his companions.
"I've spoke my mind, Mr. Christian; it ain't my notion of a place, and
I'll stand by that."
"But that's no reason, man! You must know why you're not satisfied. What
is it that you object to?"
"He'd be satisfied with no place, Mr. Christian; that's the truth of it,"
Williams, the blacksmith, put in.
"You prefer Tahiti. Is that it?" Christian asked.
"I'm not sayin' I'd not go back if the chance was offered." Christian
regarded him in silence for a moment.
"Listen to me, Mills," he proceeded. "And the rest of you as well. I have
spoken of this matter before. I will repeat what I've said, and for the
last time. We are not English seamen in good standing, in our own ship,
free to do as we choose and to go where we choose. We are fugitives from
justice, guilty of the double crime of mutiny and piracy. That we will be
searched for, as soon as the fact of the mutiny is known, is beyond
question."
"Ye don't think old Bligh'll ever reach England, sir?" Martin
interrupted.
Christian paused and glanced darkly at him.
"I could wish that he might," he said, "for the sake of the innocent men
who went with him. As matters stand, it is not likely that any of them
will ever again be heard of. Nevertheless, His Majesty will not suffer
one of his vessels to disappear without ordering a wide and careful
search to be made, to learn, if possible, her fate. A ship-of-war will he
sent out for that purpose, and Tahiti will be her destination. There she
will learn of the mutiny from those of our company who remained on that
island. The Pacific will then be combed for our hiding place; every
island considered at all likely as our refuge will be visited. Should we
be discovered and taken, death will be the portion of every man of us.
For my own part, I mean never to be taken."
"Nor I, sir!" Smith put in. Others of the mutineers added their voices to
his. There was no doubt as to the general feeling concerning the
necessity for a safe hiding place.
"Very well," Christian continued. "It is agreed, apparently, by all, or
most of you, that you have no wish to swing at a yardarm from one of His
Majesty's ships-of-war. What, then, is best to be done? Surely it is to
seek out some island unlikely to be visited for as long as we may live.
We have found such an island; it lies before us. We are distant, here,
more than a thousand miles from Tahiti, and far from the tracks of any
vessel likely to cross the Pacific in whatever direction. It is a fertile
and pleasant place; that you can see for yourselves. Our Indian friends,
whose judgment I trust more than my own in such matters, say that it is
capable of supplying all our needs. There are no inhabitants to molest
us; our experiences at Tupuai will not be repeated here. To me it seems
an ideal spot, and Mr. Young agrees that we might have searched the
Pacific over without having found one better suited to men in our
position. Now, then, reflect carefully. Shall we make our home here or
shall we not? And those who are opposed must give better reasons than
that of Mills."
"Is this to be for good, Mr. Christian?" McCoy asked.
"Yes. Let there be no mistake about that. I have already said that if we
go ashore we go to stay."
"Then I don't favour it."
"For what reason?"
"The place is too sma'. We'd do better for ourselves on that island we
raised after the mutiny, on our way to Tupuai."
"Rarotonga, you mean."
"Aye. It's a likelier place."
Christian reflected for a moment.
"I will say this, McCoy. I seriously considered taking the vessel to
Rarotonga, but there are the best of reasons why I decided against the
plan. The place is known to those of the _Bounty's_ company who
remained on Tahiti, and amongst them are men who will be sure to speak of
it to the officers of whatever vessel may be sent in search of us.
Furthermore, it is but little more than a hundred leagues from Tahiti. We
could never feel safe there...Have you anything further to say?"
He waited, glancing from one to another of the mutineers. Mills avoided
his gaze and stood with his arms folded, scowling at vacancy. Martin
looked at Quintal and kicked him with his bare foot as though urging him
to speak, but no further objections were offered.
"Very well, then. Those who favour choosing Pitcairn's Island as our
home, show hands."
Five hands were lifted at once. McCoy, after a moment of hesitation,
joined the affirmative vote. Martin followed.
"Well, Mills?" said Christian, sharply.
The old seaman raised his hand with an effort. "I can see it's best, Mr.
Christian, but I deem it hard to be cut off for life on a rock the like
o' this."
"You would find it harder still to be cut off at a rope's end," Christian
replied, grimly.
"What's to be done with the ship, sir?" Martin asked.
"Burn her, I say." It was Smith who spoke.
"Aye, burn and scuttle her, Mr. Christian," said Williams. "There's no
other way."
There was immediate dissent to this proposal on the part of both Martin
and Mills, and for a moment all the seamen were shouting at once.
Christian waited, then gave an order for silence.
"Not a man of you but is seaman enough to know that we can't keep the
ship here," he said, quietly. "She must be dismantled and burned. What
else could we do with her?"
The matter was discussed at some length, but it was plain to all that no
other possibility offered itself, and when the question was put to a vote
the show of hands was again unanimous.
"I have only one other thing to add," Christian said. "In matters of
importance that concern us as a community, every man, from this day on,
shall have his vote. All questions shall be decided by the will of the
majority. Are you agreed to this?"
All were in favour of the proposal, and Christian, having admonished them
to remember this in the future, dismissed them. When they had gone, Young
turned to his commander.
"For their own good, Christian, you have been too generous."
"In granting them a voice in our affairs?"
"Yes. I think ultimate decisions should rest with you."
"I well realize the danger," Christian replied; "but there is no
alternative. I alone am the cause of their being here. Had I not incited
them to mutiny, the _Bounty_ would now be nearing England--home." He
broke off, staring gloomily at the land. "That thought must be often in
their minds."
"They were your eager assistants," Young replied. "Not one of them joined
you against his will."
"I know. Nevertheless, I swept them into action on the spur of the
moment. They had no time to reflect upon the consequences. No, Edward, I
owe the meanest man among them whatever compensation is now possible.
Justice demands that I give each of them a voice in our affairs; yes,
even though I know it to be to their own hurt. But you and I, together,
can, I hope, direct them to wise decisions."
The sun had now set and the silence of the land seemed to flow outward to
meet the silence of the sea. High overhead, sea birds in countless
numbers floated to and fro with lonely cries in the still air, their
wings catching the light streaming up from beyond the horizon. The
_Bounty_ rocked gently over the long smooth undulations sweeping in
from the open sea.
At length Christian turned from the rail. "It is a peaceful spot,
Edward," he said. "God grant that we may keep it so!"
CHAPTER III
The _Bounty's_ people were astir with the first light of day, and
preparations for disembarking supplies went rapidly forward. The
mutineers, with the exception of Brown, the gardener, were to remain on
board under Young's charge, sending the supplies ashore. This done, they
were to proceed with the dismantling of the vessel. The native men and
most of the women were to constitute the beach party, transporting cargo
to the landing place by means of the ship's cutters and two canoes
brought from Tahiti. As soon as a path had been made, they were to carry
the stores on to the site above the cove selected for the temporary
settlement. Williams, the blacksmith, had converted some cutlasses into
bush knives by filing off the upper part of the long blades. Provided
with these, and with axes, mattocks, and spades, Minarii and two of his
native companions were soon hard at work on shore, hacking through the
dense thickets and digging out a zigzag trail to the level ground above.
Although the _Bounty's_ stores had been shared with the mutineers
who remained on Tahiti, there was still a generous amount on board: casks
of spirits, salt beef and pork, dried peas and beans, an abundant supply
of clothing, kegs of powder and nails, iron for blacksmith work, lead for
musket balls, and the like. There were also fourteen muskets and a number
of pistols. The livestock consisted of half a dozen large crates of
fowls, twenty sows, two of which had farrowed during the voyage, five
boars, and three goats. The island being small, it was decided to free
both the fowls and the animals and let them fend for themselves until the
work of house-building was under way.
The weather was all that could be desired; the sky cloudless, the breeze
light and from the southwest. So it remained for five days. By the end of
that time the precious stock of plants and animals had been carried
ashore as well as most of the ship's provisions, and shelters made of the
_Bounty's_ spare sails had been erected on a spot overlooking the
cove.
An incident occurred at this time which aroused intense excitement among
the Maori members of the company. It was an immemorial custom, among the
Polynesians, when migrating from one land to another, to carry with them
several sacred stones from their ancestral _maraes_, or temples, to
be used to consecrate their temples in a new land. The Tahitians had
brought with them two such stones from the _marae_ of Fareroi, on
the northern coast of their homeland. Minarii, the chief in whose charge
they were, had brought them on deck to be taken ashore, and Martin,
seeing them at the gangway and knowing little and caring less of their
significance to the natives, had thrown them overboard. The native men
were all ashore at the time, but Martin's act had been witnessed by some
of the women, who were horrified at what he had done. One of them leaped
overboard and swam to the beach, informing the men of what had happened.
They returned in all haste, and the white seamen, forward, resolved to
brazen out the sacrilegious act performed by Martin. A pitched battle was
averted only by the quick-wittedness of Maimiti and the tactfulness of
Young, who had the liking and respect of the native men. Fortunately, the
stones could still be dimly seen lying on the white sand below the
vessel, and it was the work of only a few minutes to dive, secure them
with lines, and draw them up. This done, peace was restored and the
natives returned to their work ashore.
On the morning of the fifth day the wind shifted to the northeast and
blew freshly into the cove. All had agreed that the vessel was to be
beached as soon as the wind favoured, and Young now put everything in
readiness for the _Bounty's_ last brief voyage. Christian, who had
spent the night ashore, returned at once. Most of the native women were
aboard at this time and the mutineers were at their stations, waiting,
talking in low voices among themselves. Christian clambered over the
rail, glanced briefly around, and went to the wheel.
"It could not have happened better for us, Ned," he said quietly.
"There's been no trouble aboard?"
"Thus far, no," Young replied. "We'll have her ashore before Mills
gathers his wits together. I've kept Martin working aft with me until a
moment ago."
Christian called to the men forward. "Stand by to back the fore-topmast
staysail!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Break out the anchors."
The men at the windlass heaved lustily, their sunburned backs gleaming
with sweat. The stronger of the women assisted at this task, while others
ran aloft to loose the fore-topsail. With her staysail backed, the vessel
swung slowly around, the topsail filled, and, while the anchors were
tatted, the ship gathered way and drove quietly on toward the beach.
The spot selected for running the vessel ashore lay under the lofty crag,
later called Ship-Landing Point, on the left side of the cove. Yielding
the wheel to Young, Christian now went forward to direct the vessel's
course. It was a tense moment for all the _Bounty's_ company; men
and women alike lined the bulwarks, gazing ahead across the narrowing
strip of water. Martin, McCoy, and Quintal stood together on the larboard
side.
Martin shook his head, gloomily. "Mark my word, mates! Many's the time
we'll rue this day afore we're done!"
Quintal thumped him on the back. "Over the side with 'ee, Isaac, and swim
back to Tahiti if ye've a mind that way. I'm for stoppin'."
"Aye, ye was easy won over, Matt Quintal," Martin replied. "It's all for
the best, is it? We'll see afore the year's out...God a mercy! There's
bottom!"
The vessel, still a quarter of a mile from shore, struck lightly. The
rock could be seen, but it was at such a depth that it no more than
scraped the hull gently; in a few seconds she was clear of it, but her
end was near. Riding more and more violently to the onshore swell, she
approached two rocks, barely awash and about four fathoms apart. A moment
later the ground swell carried her swiftly forward, lifting her bow high,
and she struck heavily.
The impact was both downward and forward; with her own movement and the
sea to help her, she slid on until her bow was lifted two or three feet.
There, by a lucky chance, she stuck, so firmly wedged that the sea could
drive her no further. The broken water foamed around her, and now and
then a heavier swell, breaking under her counter, showered her decks with
spray.
No time was lost in making the vessel as secure as possible. The rocks
where she struck lay at about thirty yards from the beach, and were
protected in a southeasterly direction by the cliff that formed that side
of the cove. Two hawsers were now carried from the bow to the shore and
made fast to trees. The vessel remained in the position in which she had
struck, canted at a slight angle to starboard. Christian, having
satisfied himself that she was as secure as he could make her, set the
men to work at once at the task of dismantling.
There was no respite for anyone during the following week. The topgallant
masts were sent down as soon as the ship was beached. The topmasts now
followed, whereupon the fore, main, and mizzenmasts were cut into
suitable lengths for handling and for use as lumber ashore. Most of the
men were employed on board, and the women, excellent swimmers, helped to
raft the timbers through the surf. So steep was the slope above the
landing beach that it was necessary to dig out the hillside and bank up
the earth so that the timbers and planking might be stacked beyond reach
of the sea until such time as they could he carried on to the settlement.
Realizing the need for haste, all worked with a will. Fortunately, the
shift in wind had been no forerunner of heavy weather. The breeze
remained light and the sea fairly calm.
At length the vessel had been gutted of cabins, lockers, and store-rooms,
the deck planking had been removed, and the men were ripping-off the
heavy oaken strakes. Their task being so nearly finished, a day of rest
was granted, and for the first time since the _Bounty_ had left
England, no one was aboard the vessel. An abundance of fish was caught
during the morning, and with these, fresh breadfruit, plantains, and wild
yams the native men had found, the _Bounty's_ people made the most
satisfying meal they had enjoyed since leaving Tahiti. Never before had
they eaten together, and the feeling of constraint was apparent to all.
Christian and Young tried to put the men at ease, but the meal passed in
silence for the most part. The women, according to Polynesian custom,
waited until the men had finished before partaking of the food. Their
hunger satisfied, the men drew apart and lay in the shade, some sleeping,
some talking in desultory fashion. Early in the afternoon, Martin, Mills,
and McCoy, who had seen little of the island thus far, set out to explore
it with Alexander Smith as their guide.
They toiled slowly on into the depths of the valley, making their way
with difficulty through the dense forests and vine-entangled thickets. An
hour had passed before they reached the ridge overlooking the western
side of the island. The breeze was refreshingly cool at that height, and
they seated themselves in a shady spot overlooking the wild green lands
below. No sound was heard save their own laboured breathing and the
gentle rustling of the wind through the trees that shaded them. Mills sat
with his arms crossed on his knees, gazing morosely into the depths of
the thickets beneath them.
"And this is what Christian's brought us to!" he said. "There's what we
can see from here, and no more."
"There's room enough," said McCoy.
"Room? Ye're easy pleased," Martin put in, gloomily. "A bloody rock, I
call it!"
"Aye, Tahiti's the place," said Smith, scornfully. "Ye'd have us all go
back there to be took by the first ship that comes out from England.
Ye're perishin' to be choked off at a rope's end, Isaac. None o' that for
me!"
McCoy nodded. "It's no such a grand place for size, this Pitcairn's
Island; but Christian's right--it's safe. We'll never be found."
"And here we'll bide to our last day!" said Mills. "Have 'ee thought o'
that, shipmates?" He smote his horny palms together. "God's curse on the
pack of us! What fools we've been to break up the ship!"
McCoy sat up abruptly. "Hearken to me, John. Ye and Isaac had your chance
to stay at Tahiti, but I mind me weel ye was all for comin' awa' with
the rest of us to a safer place. And now we've found it, ye'll nae hae
it. And what would ye hae done with the ship? Hoist her three hunnerd
feet up the rocks? Where could we keep her?"
"It's as Christian says," Smith added. "We're not free to go where we
like."
"And whose fault is that?" Mills replied. "If he'd minded his own bloody
business..."
"Aye," said Martin, "we'd ha' been home by now, or near it. We've a deal
to be thankful for to Mr. Fletcher Christian!"
"I'd like well to hear ye tell him that," said Smith. "Ye'll be sayin'
next he drove us into the mutiny. There was no man more willin' than
yerself, Isaac Martin, to seize the ship."
"That's truth," said McCoy. "Give Christian his due. We was all of a
mind, there."
"The man's clean daft. Is there one of ye can't see it?"
"Daft!..."
"Sit ye quiet, Alex. So he is, and we've all been daft with him. He's
queer by nature, that's my belief, and since we took the ship he thinks
the world ain't big enough to hide him and us in. He's a master talker
when he's a mind to talk; that I'll say, else he'd never coaxed a man of
us off Tahiti. What if a ship did come there? Couldn't we ha' hid in the
mountains? There's places a plenty where God himself couldn't ha' found
us. Or if we was afeared o' that, we'd only to take a big Indian canoe
and sail to Eimeo or one of them islands to leeward, a good hundred miles
from Tahiti. We could ha' played hide-and-seek with a dozen King's ships
till they got sick o' the chase and went off home. Then we'd live easy
for ten or fifteen years till the next one came. Ain't that common sense?
Speak up, Will!"
"Aye," McCoy replied, uneasily. "Like enough we might hae done it."
"Might! Damn my eyes! I've spoke o' ships because Christian's got ships
on the brain, but I'll warrant them as stayed on Tahiti is as safe as
we'll be here. Bligh'll never get home; Christian himself knows that.
Does anyone but him think they'll send a ship out from England, halfway
round the world, to see what's become of a little transport? Bloody
likely! They'll mark her down as lost by the act o' God, and that'll be
the end of it."
"Damn your blood!" said Mills, scowling at him. "Why couldn't ye ha'
spoke like this to Christian? What's the good o' talkin' of it now?"
"Didn't I say we was daft, the lot of us? He's made us believe what he
told us, and now we're done for."
"I'd like to see ye with a rope around your neck, waitin' to be hoisted
aloft," said Smith. "It's not Christian ye'd be callin' daft then."
"Leave all that, lads," said McCoy. "We're to stop here now, and there's
an end of it."
"And Christian's always to have his way, is he, whatever's done?" Martin
asked.
"No, damn my eyes if he is!" Mills exclaimed. "We're jack-tars no longer,
mates! Don't forget it! We're to have a say here as good as his own. He's
promised it."
"There's no need to fash yersel'," said McCoy. "Wasn't it Christian that
made the offer? And he'll bide by it; that we know."
"Who's sayin' he won't? But I want us to mind what he's said...There's
the rum, now. He's promised us our grog as long as it lasts, and we've
had none these two days."
"Curse ye, John, for mindin' us o' that," said McCoy with a wry smile.
"And how would we have it with us workin' aboard and the spirits ashore?"
said Smith.
"Aye, we're no settled yet," said McCoy. "Gie him time. We'll have our
tot afore the evening."
"There's Alex would a had us go without altogether," said Mills.
"Ye've a thick skull, John. I was for makin' it last a good few years,
and, as Christian says, ye can't do that and claim seamen's rations now.
How much do we have? Ye know as well as myself, there's but the two
puncheons--that's 164 gallons--and the three five-gallon tags."
"There's but eight of us to drink it, Alex. Brown's an abstainer."
"Aye," said McCoy, fervently. "God be thanked for Brown and the Indians!
If they was fond o' grog..."
"Like it or not, none the Indians would have. We could see to that," said
Mills.
"What I say is this," Smith continued. "Christian's give ye yer choice
with the rum, and ye was all for yer half-pint a day. With eight of us to
drink it, there's three and a half gallons a week. Afore the year's out,
where'll we be for grog? And mind ye, there's no Deptford stores here.
When it's gone, it's gone, and we'll do without for the rest of our
lives."
"We'll no think of that, Alex," said McCoy. "We'll just relish what we've
got and thank God it's no less. Mon, but I'd like my dram this minute!"
"What would ye say, messmates, to better than a dram for the four of us
within the half-hour?" Martin asked. McCoy turned his head quickly.
"What's that ye say, Isaac? How should we hae it, and the rum stored in
Christian's tent?"
"Oh, it's rum ye must have, is it?" Martin replied, with a sly smile. "Ye
wouldn't look at brandy, I doubt? And fine old brandy, too?"
"What are ye drivin' at, man?" asked Mills, harshly. "Can't ye speak out
plain? There's no brandy in the stores."
"Have I said it was in the stores?"
"Hark 'ee, Isaac! If ye've been thievin' from the medicine chest..."
"I've done no such thing. I'll tell 'ee, mates," he proceeded, leaning
forward with his elbows on his knees. "A few days back while we was
rippin' out the cabin partitions, I found eight quarts o' brandy under
what was Old Sawbones's bed-place. I reckon he'd hid it away for his own
use on a thirsty day. Anyway, there it was, packed careful in a canvas
bag. Sez I when I found it: 'This'll belong to nobody but Isaac Martin.
It's not ship's stores, it's finder's luck'; so I hid it away, and last
night, after we'd come ashore, I found a safe place to stow it. But I'd
no mind to be greedy with it. Yell allow that, for I've told what there
was no need to tell if I'd meant to keep it."
"That's plain truth, God bless ye!" said McCoy. "If I'd found it I doubt
but I'd been hog enough to drink the lot of it on the sly."
"Ye would so, Will," said Mills. "Ye've your good points, but sharin'
anything in the way o' grog's not one of 'em. Where's this brandy now,
Isaac?"
"We passed where I hid it on the way up here. It's a good piece from the
camp. We can drink it somewheres thereabout and the rest none the wiser.
What do ye say, Alex? Must I give it up as ship's stores?"
"That's no called for," McCoy put in earnestly.
"To my thinkin' it belongs to the ship and calls to be shared by all."
"There's three of us to say no to that," said Mills.
Smith rose. "Do as ye please," he said, "but it's a bad beginning ye're
makin'. I'll go along and leave ye to it."
For a moment his companions looked after him in silence; then Martin
called out, "If we're asked for, Alex, tell 'em we're walkin' the island
and will sleep the night out."
Smith turned and waved his hand. A moment later he was lost to view in
the forest, below.
McCoy shook his head admiringly. "He's a grand stubborn character. And
there's no man fonder of his grog; there's the wonder of it."
"If we'd the brandy with us we could ha' won him over for all his fine
notions o' what's fair to the rest," Martin replied. He rose to his feet.
"Well, shipmates?"
"Aye, lead on, Isaac," said McCoy, eagerly. "We'll no be laggin' far
behind."
Once below the ridge they lost the breeze and sweat streamed from their
half-naked bodies as they pushed their way through the tall fern into the
thickets below. At length they reached the depths of the valley, where
the air was moist and cool. Martin led the way, walking in the bed of a
small stream. Presently he stopped and looked about him uncertainly.
McCoy gave him an anxious glance. "Ye've not lost yer bearin's, Isaac?"
"It's somewhere hereabout," said Martin.
"Curdle ye, Isaac! Don't ye _know_? What like was the place where ye
hid it?" said Mills.
"It was by just such a tree as this. There was a hollow by the roots and
I put it there...No, it'll be a step farther down."
They proceeded slowly, Martin glancing from side to side. Presently his
face lighted up. "Yon's the one," he said, hurrying forward. A
widespreading hibiscus tree that looked as ancient as the land itself
overhung the stream, its branches filled with lemon-coloured blossoms.
Martin knelt by the trunk and reached to his arm's length among the
gnarled and twisted roots. The eyes of his companions glistened as he
drew out, one by one, eight bottles. He sat back on his heels, glancing
triumphantly up at them.
"God love ye, Isaac!" McCoy exclaimed, in an awed voice.
"And it's old Sawbones's best brandy, mind ye that! Whereabout shall we
go to drink it? We can't sit comfortable-like here."
McCoy and Martin carrying three bottles each, and Mills with two, they
proceeded down the valley for another fifty yards until they came to a
little glade carpeted with fern and mottled with sunlight and shadow. At
this point the tiny stream made a bend, and in the hollow against the
further bank was a pool of still water, two or three yards wide. Here
they seated themselves with grunts of satisfaction. Martin, taking a
heavy clasp knife which he carried at his belt, knocked off the neck of a
bottle with one clean even blow.
"Ye needna be so impatient as all that," said McCoy. "Bottles'll be handy
things here."
Martin took a long pull before replying. "If there was one, there was
fifteen dozen empties took ashore from the spirit room," he said. His
companions were not far behind him in enjoying their first drink. McCoy,
replacing the cork in his bottle, leaned it carefully against the tree
beside him.
"Isaac, I'll never forget ye for this," he said. "It fair sickens me to
think I could nae hae done the same if I'd found the brandy."
"Enjoy yourself hearty, Will. There's plenty for all. I'll be blind drunk
afore I've finished my second."
"We needna be hasty, there's a blessing," McCoy replied. "We've the night
before us, and there's water close by to sober us up now and again."
"I'm as willin' Matt Quintal's not with us," said Mills.
"Aye," Martin replied. "There's a good shipmate when he's sober, but God
spare me when he's had a drop too much!"
McCoy nodded. "There's no demon worse. D'ye mind his wreckin' the taproom
at the Three Blackamoors the week we left Portsmouth? When it took five
of us to get him down?"
"Mind! I've the marks on me yet," said Mills. "God strike me! What's
this?"
A tiny bouquet of flowers and fern, attached to a slender ribbon of bark,
came dropping down through the foliage of the tree that shaded them.
After dangling in front of Mills's nose for a moment, it was jerked up
again. A ripple of laughter was heard, and, looking up quickly, they
could see an elfin-like face peeping down from among the green leaves.
"It's your own wench, Mills! Damme if it's not!" said Martin. Mills's
rugged face sftened. "So it is! Come out o' that, ye little witch! What
are ye doin' here?" he called.
The girl descended to the lowest branch and perched there, out of reach,
smiling down at them.
"She's a rare lass for roamin' the woods and mountains," said Mills,
fondly. He held out his arms. "Jump, ye little mischty!" The girl leaped
and he caught her in his arms. She was dressed in a kirtle of bark cloth
reaching to her knees, and her thick hair fell in a rippling mass over
her bare breasts and shoulders. Mills held her off at arm's length,
gazing at her admiringly.
"Ye've spoke truth, John," said Martin. "She's a proper little witch."
"Aye," said McCoy, "ye've the prettiest lass o' the lot. I wonder she'd
come awa' from her kinfolks and a' with a dour old stick the like o'
yersel'."
Mills stroked her hair with his great rough hand. "Ye'll allow this,
Will: ye've not seen her weepin' her eyes out for Tahiti like some o' the
women."
"Nay, I'll grant that," said McCoy. "She seems a contented little body."
"I'd be pleased to say the like o' my wench, Susannah," said Martin,
glumly. "She was willin' enough to come away with us, but now we're here
she's fair sick to be home again. I've had no good of her since we
beached the ship."
"It's in reason she should be, Isaac," McCoy replied. "My woman's the
same way. Gie 'em time; they'll joggle down well enough. Mills's lass
here'll learn 'em how to make the best of things, won't 'ee, Prudence?"
The girl's lips parted in a ready smile, revealing her small white teeth.
"How d'ye manage with her, John?" Martin asked. "Ye're the dumbest o' the
lot for speakin' the Indian lingo. Is it sign talk ye use with her?"
"Never ye mind about that," Mills replied gruffly. "I've no call to learn
their heathen jabber. Prudence takes to English like a pigeon picks up
corn."
"They're a queer lot, all these Indian wenches," said Martin. "Why is it,
now, they make such a fuss about cookin' the food?"
"It's against their heathen notions," said McCoy. "Young's told me how it
is. Indian men won't have their womenfolks fussin' with their vittles.
It's contrary to their religion, he says."
"I'll learn mine better'n that, once we're settled," Martin replied.
"She'll bloody well do as I tell her."
"There's no need to beat it out of 'em, Isaac. They'll come around well
enough, once they see how it is with us."
"Aye, give 'em time; they'll follow our ways," said Mills. "It ain't in
reason to expect it at the start."
"And the men with 'em, if they know what's good for 'em."
"Ye'll go easy there, Isaac," said McCoy, "else we'll have a fine row on
our hands one o' these days. Minarii and Tetahiti's a pair not to be
trifled with."
"Say ye so, Will?" Mills replied grimly. "They'd best learn at the start
who's masters here."
"Christian and Young treat 'em like they was as good as ourselves," said
Martin.
"There's three we can do as we like with, but mind the others!" said
McCoy. "Will the lass ken what we say, John?"
"She's not that far along. Will 'ee sing 'em a song, Prudence?" he asked.
The girl laughed and shook her head.
"It strikes me she knows more 'n she lets on," said Martin.
"I've been learnin' her one," Mills went on proudly. "Come, now, lass:--
We hove our ship to when the wind was sou'west, boys,
We hove our ship to for to strike soundings clear....
Ye mind how it goes? Come, there's a good wench."
After considerable urging the girl began singing in a soft, clear voice
and a quaint pronunciation of the English words that delighted her
listeners. She broke off and they cheered her heartily.
"Damme if that ain't pretty, now!" said Martin. "Give her a sup o'
brandy; there's nothin' better to wet the whistle."
"Will 'ee have a taste, sweetheart?" said Mills, holding out the bottle.
Prudence shook her head. "She don't fancy the stuff," he said, "and I
ain't coaxed her to relish it."
"And it's right ye are," said McCoy, "seeing there's none too much for
oursel's. If the women learned to booze we'd be bad off in no time for
grog."
"What! A wench not drink with her fancy-man?" said Martin. "That's not
jack-tar's fashion. Give her a sup."
"Aye, ye're right, Isaac," Mills replied. "It ain't natural on a spree.
Come, lass, just a drop now."
He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him, holding the
bottle to her lips. Thus urged, the girl closed her eyes and took two or
three resolute swallows. Choking and sputtering, she pushed the bottle
away and ran to the near-by stream. The three men laughed heartily.
"Fancy a dolly-mop at home makin' such a face as that over good brandy,"
said Martin.
"My old woman could drink her half-pint in two ticks, not winkin' an
eye," said McCoy..."There's an odd thing," he added; "I doubt I've
thought of her twice this past twelve-month."
"Was ye wedded to her, Will?"
"Aye; all shipshape and Bristol-fashion. I liked her well enough, too."
"If I know women she'll not be sleepin' cold the nights ye've been away,"
said Mills.
"Aye, she'll hae dragged her anchor long afore this," McCoy replied. He
raised his bottle. "Well, here's luck to her wherever she is."
Prudence returned from the brook and seated herself again at Mills's
side.
"How is it with ye, lass?"
She laughed and pointed to the bottle. "More," she replied.
"There's a proper wench, John," said Martin, admiringly. "Damn my eyes if
she won't make a proper boozer, give her time. All she needs is a sup o'
water to follow."
Mills smiled down at her, proudly. "She'll do," he said. "Here, darlin',
drink hearty."
"Ahoy there, mates!"
The three men looked up quickly to find Quintal standing behind them.
"God love us! It's Matt himself," said McCoy, uneasily.
"Come aboard, Matt; we was wishin' for ye," Martin put in with an attempt
at heartiness.
Quintal squatted on the balls of his feet, his brawny hands on his knees,
and grinned at them accusingly. "I've no doubt o' that," he said, "and
searchin' for me far and wide. And where did ye find all this?"
"Never ye mind, Matt. We ain't thieved it. It's private stock. Would ye
relish a taste?"
Quintal looked longingly at the bottle. "Ye know damned well I would. No,
don't coax me, Isaac. I'd best leave it alone."
"That's common sense, lad," said McCoy. "Ye ken yer weakness. We'll no
think the less o' ye for standin' out against it."
Quintal seated himself in the fern with his back to a tree. "Go on with
your boozin'," he said. "What's this, Mills? The little wench ain't
shakin' a cloth?"
"She's havin' her first spree," said Mills. "She's took to brandy that
easy. Where's Jack Williams?"
"I've not seen him these two hours."
"Not alone, I'll warrant, wherever he is. And it won't be Fasto that's
with him."
"Aye, he's fair crazed over that--what's her name? Hutia?"
"Why can't he keep to his own?" Mills growled.
"Where's the need, John?" Martin asked. "I mean to take a walk with Hutia
myself, once we're well ashore."
"Aye, ye'll be a proper trouble-maker, Isaac, give ye half a chance,"
said Quintal. "The Indians can play that game as well as ourselves. I'm
with John. Let each man keep to his own."
"Aye, aye, to that!" said McCoy. "Once there was trouble started 'twixt
us and the Indians, there'd be the deil and a' to pay. We've the chance,
here, to live quiet and peaceful as ever we like. I say, let's take it
and hold fast by it."
"And how long will the Indians hold by it, think ye?" asked Martin.
"There's three without women. They'll be snoopin' after ours, fast
enough."
"They'll leave mine alone," said Mills. "That I'll promise!"
"Say ye so, John? She'll be amongst the first. I'll warrant some of 'em's
had her before now."
Mills sprang to his knees and grasped Martin by the shoulders, shaking
him violently.
"What d'ye say, ye devil? Speak up if ye've seen it! Tell me who, or I'll
throttle ye!"
"Let me go, John! God's name! I've seen naught! I was only havin' a game
wi' ye."
Mills glared at him suspiciously, but upon being reassured by the others
he released him and resumed his place.
"Christian's gone aboard again," said Quintal; "him and Young."
"There, lads, we can take it easy," said McCoy in a relieved tone.
"Prudence, will 'ee gie us a dance?" He turned to Mills: "Ye don't mind,
John? It's a joy to see her."
"Mind? Why should he?" said Martin. "Come, Prudence, up wi' ye, wench!"
The fumes of the brandy had already mounted to the girl's brain and she
was ready enough to comply. The men well understood the quick rhythmic
slapping of hands upon knees that marked the time for the dances of the
Maori women. Prudence danced proudly, with the natural abandon of the
young savage, pausing before each of the men in turn, her slim bare arms
akimbo, gazing tauntingly into their eyes as she went through the
provocative movements of the dance. Of a sudden she broke off with a peal
of laughter and ran lightly away into the thickets.
The men cheered heartily. "Come back, ye little imp," Martin called.
"We'll have more o' the same."
"That we will," said McCoy. "John, I'll trade wenches wi' ye any day ye
like."
"Keep your own," said Mills, with a harsh laugh. "I'm well pleased with
what I got. Come back, ye little mischty! We've not done wi' ye yet."
The girl feigned reluctance for a moment; then, running back to Mills,
she seized the bottle from his hands and drank again. Quintal watched her
with fascinated eyes, nervously clasping and unclasping his great hairy
hands. By this time the others were in the mellow state of the first
stages of a spree.
"Matt Quintal," Martin exclaimed, "I'll see no man sit by with a dry
gullet! Ye're perished for a drink, that's plain. Come, have a sup." He
passed over a bottle which Quintal accepted, hesitatingly. "Thank 'ee,
Isaac. I'll have a taste and no more."
It was a generous taste that called for another, and yet another, freely
offered by Mills and Martin. A few moments later Quintal reached across
and seized the partly emptied bottle at McCoy's side.
"Damn yer blood, Matt!" McCoy exclaimed anxiously. "Easy, now! There's
but eight quarts for the lot of us!" Quintal held him off with one hand
while he drank. "D'ye grudge me a drink, ye hog?" he said, grinning.
"Ye've another full bottle beside ye. I'll take that if ye'll like it
better."
"It's nae that I grudge ye a drink, Matt, but there's enough in the
bottle wi' what ye've had to make ye mad drunk, and well ye know it."
"Aye," said Mills. "Drink slow, Matt, and water it a-plenty. It'll last
the night if ye do that."
The afternoon was now well advanced, and the shadow of the high ridge to
the westward had already crept beyond the little glade where the men were
seated. They drank and lolled at their ease. There was no need, now, to
urge Prudence to dance. Martin, Quintal, and McCoy slapped their knees
and cheered her on as her gestures and postures became more and more
wanton and provocative, but the expression on Mills's face was
increasingly sullen. "That'll do, lass," he said, at length. "Off wi' ye,
now. Go back wi' the others." But the girl laughed without heeding and,
as though with intent to enrage him, passed him by without a glance,
dancing before Quintal, gazing into his eyes with a sultry smile. Of a
sudden Quintal seized her by the arm, pulling her into his lap, and gave
her a bearlike hug, kissing her heartily. Mills sprang to his feet.
"Let her go, damn yer blood! Let her go, I say!"
The girl, sobered a little, began to struggle, but Quintal held her fast.
He turned to Mills with a drunken leer. "She knows who's the best man,
don't 'ee, wench?" Pinioning her arms, he kissed her again and again, but
as Mills strode forward he got to his feet just in time to receive a blow
in the face, delivered with all the strength of Mills's arm. The blood
streamed from his nose and he staggered back, but recovered himself. An
insane light came into his closely set blue eyes. He tossed the girl
aside and clenched his enormous fists.
"Ye bloody bastard! I'll kill ye for that!" He gave Mills a blow on the
chest that knocked him full length, but he was up again in a second.
Rushing forward, he grappled Quintal around the waist. McCoy and Martin
were both on their feet by this time, looking anxiously on.
"Stop it, lads!" McCoy called, earnestly. "Matt, think what ye do."
Glaring wildly, Quintal turned his head and gave McCoy a backhanded blow
that sent him sprawling. Mills, for all his strength, was no match for
the younger man, and in a moment Quintal had him down, with a knee on his
chest and his fingers around his throat. Mills's eyes started from their
sockets and his tongue protruded from his mouth.
"He'll kill him, Isaac! Pitch in!" McCoy shouted. The two men sprang upon
his back, tugging and straining with all their strength. Quintal loosed
one hand to seize Martin's arm, giving it such a wrench that he cried out
with pain. Meanwhile, with the pressure partly relieved from his throat,
Mills gave a desperate heave and, with the others to help him, managed to
topple Quintal over. The three men were upon him at once, but their
combined strength was not sufficient to keep him down. Breaking Mills's
hold on his legs, he struggled to his feet, the others clinging to him
desperately.
"God be praised! Here's Alex," McCoy panted. "Quick, mon!"
Before Quintal had time to turn his head, Smith's burly form was upon him
with the others. He fought like a demon, but the odds were now too great.
Presently he lay helpless, breathing heavily, his face streaming with
sweat and blood, his eyes glaring insanely. "Will ye give in, ye devil?"
said Smith. With a bellow of rage Quintal resumed the struggle, and his
four antagonists needed all their strength to hold him. "Is there a bit
o' line amongst ye?" Smith panted. "We must seize him up."
"Prudence!" Mills called; "fetch some _purau_ bark!" The girl, who
had been looking on in terror, understood at once. Running to a near-by
hibiscus tree, she bit through the tough smooth bark of some of the
low-hanging branches and quickly ripped it down, in long strips. After a
prolonged struggle the four men had Quintal bound, hand and foot.
Presently his eyes closed and he fell into a heavy sleep.
"Ye was needed, Alex," said McCoy, in a weak voice. "He'd ha' done for
the three of us...Ye'll not let on ye've seen us?" he added. "We can
booze quiet now Matt's asleep."
"I was sent to look for ye," said Smith. "Mr. Christian's decided to burn
the ship. Ye can stay, or go to see her fired, as ye've a mind; but he
wanted ye to know."
"Burn and be damned to her, now," said Mills.
"He reckons what timbers there is left in her will be more trouble to get
out than they're worth."
"I could ha' told him that three days back," said Martin. "See here,
Alex! We've a good sup o' brandy left. Ye'd best stay and have a share."
He held out a bottle while Smith stood irresolutely, looking from one to
another of them. Of a sudden he threw himself on the ground beside them.
"So I will, Isaac!" he said, as he seized the bottle. "We're hogs for
drinkin' it on the sly, but away with that!"
Dusk deepened into night. Quintal was snoring loudly, and Martin had now
reached the maudlin stage of drunkenness. His thoughts had turned to home
and he blubbered half to himself, half to his companions, cursing
Christian the while, and the hard fate that had left them stranded
forever on a rock in mid-ocean. Smith and McCoy, having vainly tried to
quiet him, at length gave it up and paid no further heed to him. Mills
drank in silence; when deep in his cups he became more and more dour and
taciturn. Prudence was asleep with her head in his lap.
"Ye're a marvel for drink, Will," Smith was saying. "I'll Warrant ye've
had twice as much as Martin, but there's none would know it from yer
speech."
"I've a good Scotch stomach and a hard Scotch head," McCoy replied. "Ye
maun go north o' the Tweed, mon, if ye'd see an honest toper. We've
bairns amangst us could drink the best o' ye English under a table, and
gang hame to their mithers after, and think nae mair aboot it."
Smith grinned. "Aye, ye're grand folk," he replied, "and well ye know
it."
"We've reason to, Alex; but aboot this burnin' o' the ship..."
"Christian's aboard of her now, with Young and Jack Williams. They'll be
firin' her directly."
Presently a faint reddish glow streamed up from behind the seaward cliffs
to the east. It increased from moment to moment until the light
penetrated even to where they sat.
Smith got to his feet. "We'd best go and see the last of her, Will. I'll
cut Matt loose; there's no harm in him now. What'll ye do, John, stay or
come with us?"
Mills rose and took the native girl up in his arms. "Go past the tents,"
he said. "I'll leave her there."
Martin was asleep. McCoy took up the bottle beside him and held it up to
the light. "Isaac's a good sup left here, lads."
"Leave that," Mills growled. "It's his, ain't it?"
"Will it be safe, think ye? Matt might wake..."
"So he might; there's a good Scotch reason," said Smith. "Pass it round,
Will."
Having emptied the bottle, they left it at Martin's side, and the men
proceeded slowly down the valley, Smith leading the way. They found no
one at the tents; Mills left Prudence there and they went along the
roughly cleared path to the lookout point above the cove. The ship was
burning fiercely, flames and sparks streaming high in the air. In the red
glare they could plainly see the other members of the _Bounty's_
company seated among the rocks on the narrow foreshore.
"She makes a grand light," said McCoy, glumly.
"Aye," said Smith.
They were silent after that.
CHAPTER IV
A deeper awareness of their isolation from the world of men now came home
to them. The empty sea walled them round, and the ship, burned to the
water's edge but still lying where she had been driven upon the rocks,
was an eloquent reminder to all of the irrevocable nature of their fate.
For some of the white men, in particular, the sight of the blackened
hulk, washed over by the sea, had a gloomy fascination not to be
resisted. In the evening when work for the day was over, they would come
singly, or in groups of two or three, to the lookout point above the cove
and sit there until the last light had left the sky, gazing down upon all
that remained of the vessel as though they could not vet realize that she
was lost to them forever.
Among the mutineers, Brown was the one most deeply affected by the nature
of their fate. He was a small, shy man of thirty years, with a gentle
voice and manner, in marked contrast with those of some of the companions
chance had forced upon him. Curiously enough, his presence among them was
due to that very mildness of his character, and to his inability to make
immediate decisions for himself. He had sailed in the _Bounty_ in
the capacity of assistant to Mr. Nelson, the botanist of the expedition,
and had spent five happy months on Tahiti, studying the flora of the
island and helping to collect and care for the young breadfruit trees.
Upon the morning of the mutiny he had been shaken from sleep by Martin,
who had thrust a musket into his hands and ordered him on deck. There he
had stood with his weapon, during the uproar which followed, completely
bewildered by what was taking place, appalled by what he had unwittingly
done, and incapable of action until the opportunity for it had been lost.
Christian had beew as surprised as grieved when, later, he discovered
Brown among the members of his own party; and Brown of necessity
transferred to Christian his dependence for the protection and guidance
furnished up to that time by his chief, Mr. Nelson. He knew nothing of
ships or the sea, but he had a prfound knowledge of soils and plants, and
his love of nature compensated him, in a measure, for hours of desperate
homesickness.
He suffered no more from this cause than did many of the women of the
_Bounty's_ company. They longed for the comfort of numbers; for the
gaiety of their communal life at Tahiti; for the quiet lagoons lighted at
night by the torches of innumerable fishermen; for the clear,
full-running mountain streams where they had bathed at evening. They
longed for the friends and kindred whom they knew, now, they could never
hope to see again; for the voices of children; for the authority of
long-established custom. Conditions on this high, rockbound island were
as strange to them as the ways of their white lords, and the silence, the
loneliness, awed and frightened them.
Two only of their numbers escaped, in part, the general feeling of
forsakenness: the young girl whom Mills had taken, and whom he had named,
with unconscious irony, "Prudence," and Jenny, the consort of Brown.
Jenny was a slender, active, courageous woman of Brown's own age, with
all the force of character he lacked. She was the oldest of the women,
but she was sprung from the lower class of Tahitian society, and,
although of resolute character, she maintained toward Maimiti and Taurua,
the consorts of Christian and Young, the deference and respect which
their birth and blood demanded that she should. To Moetua, as well, the
same deference was extended; for she too was of the kindred of chiefs,
and her husband, Minarii, had been a man of authority on Tahiti.
Gradually the sense of loneliness, common at first to all, gave place to
more cheerful feelings, and men and women alike set themselves with a
will to the work before them. A tract of land near the temporary
settlement was chosen for the first garden, and for the period of a week
most of the company was engaged in clearing and planting. This task
finished, the garden was left to the charge of Brown and some of the
women, while the others, under Christian's direction, were occupied with
house-building.
The site chosen for the permanent settlement lay beneath the mountain
which they called the "Goat-House Peak," a little to the eastward of a
narrow valley whose western wall was formed by the mountain itself. By
chance or by mutual agreement they had divided themselves into
households, and all save Brown and Jenny, who wished to live inland, had
chosen sites for their dwellings on the seaward slope of the main valley.
Christian's house was building below the gigantic banyan tree where he
and Maimiti had halted to rest on the day of their first visit ashore.
The second household was that of Young and Alexander Smith, with their
women, Taurua and Balhadi. Mills, Martin, and Williams formed the third,
with Prudence, Susannah, and Fasto; Quintal and McCoy, Sarah and Mary,
the fourth; and the native men, the fifth. This latter was the largest
household, of nine members: Minarii, Tetahiti, Tararu, Te Moa, Nihau, and
Hu, with the wives of the three first, Moetua, Nanai, and Hutia. Te Moa,
Nihau, and Hu were the three men unprovided with women.
The white men, with the exception of Brown, were erecting wooden houses
made partly of the _Bounty_ materials and partly of island timber,
and the rofs were to be of pandanus-leaf thatch. The dwelling for the
native men was situated in a glade a quarter of a mile inland from Bounty
Bay. Quintal and McCoy lived nearest to the landing place. The houses of
the other mutineers were closer together, but hidden from one another in
the forest that covered the valley.
The native men, helped by the stronger of the women, were allotted the
task of carrying the supplies to the settlement while the white men were
building a storehouse to contain them. Christian, with the general
consent, grudgingly given by some of the men, took the stores into his
own charge and kept the keys to the storehouse always on his person.
He ruled the little colony with strict justice, granting white men and
brown complete liberty in their personal affairs so long as these did not
interfere with the peace of the community. An equitable division of
labour was made. Williams was employed at his forge, with the native, Hu,
as his helper. Mills and Alexander Smith had charge of the saw pit;
Quintal and McCoy looked after the livestock, building enclosures near
the settlement for some of the fowls and the brood sows. Brown was
relieved of all other employment so that he might give his full time to
the gardens. The native men were employed as occasion demanded, and
during the early months of the settlement it was they who did the fishing
for the community and searched for the wild products of the
island--plantains, taro, candlenuts for lighting purposes, and the like.
Christian and Young had general supervision of all, and set an example to
the others by working, with brief intervals for meals, from dawn until
dark. As for the women, they had work and to spare while the houses were
building, in collecting and preparing the pandanus leaves for thatch.
These had first to be soaked in the sea, then smoothed and straightened
and the long, thorn-covered edges removed; after which they were folded
over light four-foot segments of split canes and pinned thus with slender
midribs from the leaves of palm fronds. Some two thousand canes of these
_raufara_, as they were called, each of them holding about forty
pandanus leaves, were needed for the thatching of each dwelling.
From the beginning Christian had set aside Sunday as a day of rest, in so
far as the community work was concerned. Neither he nor Young was of
religious turn of mind, and the other white men even less so; therefore
no service was held and each man employed himself as he pleased.
Late on a Sunday afternoon toward the end of February, Christian and
Young had climbed to the ridge connecting the two highest peaks of the
island. It was an impressive lookout point. To the eastward the main
valley lay outspread. On the opposite side the land fell away in gullies
and precipitous ravines to the sea. Several small cascades, the result of
recent heavy rains, streamed down the rocky walls, arching away from
them, in places, as they descended. Small as the island was, its aspect
from that height had in it a quality of savage grandeur, and the rich
green thickets on the gentler slopes, lying in the full splendour of the
westering sun, added to the solemnity of narrow valleys already filling
with shadow, and the bare precipices that hung above them. The view would
have been an arresting one in the most frequented of oceans; it was
infinitely more so here where the vast floor of the sea, which seemed to
slope down from the horizons, lay empty to the gaze month after month,
year after year.
The ridge at that point was barely two paces in width. Christian seated
himself on a rock that overhung the mountain wall; Young reclined in the
short fern at his side. Sea birds were beginning to come home from their
day's fishing far offshore. As the shadows lengthened over the land their
numbers increased to countless thousands, circling high in air, their
wings flashing in the golden light. The two friends remained silent for a
long time, listening to the faint cries of the birds and the thunder of
the surf against the bastions of the cliffs nearly a thousand feet below.
The spirit of solitude had altered both of these men, each in a different
way. Brief as their time on the island had been, the sense of their
complete and final removal from all they had known in the past had been
borne in upon them swiftly, and had now become an accepted and natural
condition of their lives.
Christian was the first to speak.
"A lonely sound, Ned," he said at length. "Sometimes I love it, but there
are moments when the thought that I can never escape it drives me half
frantic."
Young turned his head. "The booming of the surf?" he asked. "I have
already ceased to hear it in a conscious way. To me it has become a part
of the silence of the place."
"I wish I could say as much. You have a faculty I greatly admire. What
shall I call it? Stillness of mind, perhaps. It is not one that you could
have acquired. You must have had it always."
Young smiled. "Does it seem to you such a valuable faculty?"
"Beyond price!" Christian replied, earnestly. "I have ften observed you
without your being aware of the fact. I believe that you could sit for
hours on end without forethought or afterthought, enjoying the beauty of
each moment as it passes. What would I not give for your quiet spirit!"
"Allow me to say that I have envied you, many's the time, for having the
reverse of my quietness, as you call it. There is all too little of the
man of action in my character. When I think what a sorry aide I am to you
here..."
"A sorry aide? In God's name, Ned, what could I do without you?
Supposing..." He broke off with a faint smile. "Enough," he added. "The
time has not come when we need begin paying one another compliments."
They had no further speech for some time; then Christian said: "There is
something I have long wanted to ask you...Give me your candid
opinion...Is it possible, do you think, that Bligh and the men with him
could have survived?"
Young gave him a quick glance. "I have waited for that question," he
replied. "The matter is not one I have felt free to open, but I have been
tempted to do so more than once."
"Well, what do you think?"
"That there is reason to believe them safe."
Christian turned to him abruptly. "Say it again, Ned! Make me believe it!
But, no...What do I ask? Could nineteen men, unarmed, scantly provided
with food and water, crowded to the point of foundering in a ship's boat,
make a voyage of full twelve hundred leagues? Through archipelagoes
peopled with savages who would ask nothing better than to murder them at
sight? Impossible!"
"It is by no means impossible if you consider the character of the man
who leads them," Young replied, quietly. "Remember his uncanny skill as a
navigator; his knowledge of the sea; his prodigious memory. I doubt
whether there is a known island in the Pacific, or the fragment of one,
whose precise latitude and longitude he does not carry in his head. Above
all, Christian, remember his stubborn, unconquerable will. And whatever
we may think of him otherwise, you will agree that, with a vessel under
him, though it be nothing but a ship's launch, Bligh is beyond praise."
"He is; I grant it freely. By God! You may be right! Bligh could do it,
and only he! What a feat it would he!"
"And it may very well be an accomplished fact by now," Young replied.
"Nelson, Fryer, Cole, Ledward, and all the others may be approaching
England at this moment, while we speak of them. They would have had
easterly winds all the way. They may have reached the Dutch East Indies
in time to sail home with the October fleet."
"Yes, that would be possible...If only I could be sure of it!"
"Try to think of them so," Young replied earnestly. "Let me urge you,
Christian, to brood no longer over this matter. You are not justified in
thinking of them as dead. Believe me, you are not. I say this not merely
to comfort you; it is my reasoned opinion. The launch, as you know, was
an excellent sea boat. Think of the voyages we ourselves have made in
her, in all kinds of weather."
"I know..."
"And bear this in mind," Young continued: "there are, as you say, vast
archipelagoes known to exist between the Friendly Islands and the Dutch
settlements. It is by no means unlikely that Bligh has been able to land
safely, at various places, for refreshment. How many small uninhabited
islands have we ourselves seen where a ship's boat might lie undiscovered
by the savages for days, or weeks?"
He broke off, glancing anxiously at his companion. Christian turned and
laid a hand on his shoulder. "Say no more, Ned. It has done me good to
speak of this matter, for once. Whatever may have happened, there is
nothing to be done about it now."
"And if Bligh reaches home?"
Christian smiled, bitterly. "There will be a hue and cry after us such as
England has not known for a century," he replied. "And the old blackguard
will be lifted, for a time at least, to a level with Drake. And what will
be said of me..."
He put the palms of his hands to his eyes in an abrupt gesture and kept
them there for a moment; then he turned again to his companion. "It is
odd to think, Ned, that you and I may live to be old men here, with our
children and grandchildren growing up around us. We will never be found;
I am all but certain of that."
Young smiled. "What a strange colony we shall be, fifty years hence! What
a mixture of bloods!"
"And of tongues as well. Already we seem to be developing a curious
speech of our own, part English, part Indian."
"English, I think, will survive in the end," Young replied. "Men like
Mills and Quintal and Williams have a fair smattering of the Indian
tongue, but they will never be able to speak it well. It interests me to
observe how readily some of the women are acquiring English. Brown's
woman and that girl of Mills's are surprisingly fluent in it, even now."
"Do you find that you sometimes think in Tahitian?"
"Frequently. We are being made over here quite as much as the Indians
themselves."
"I feel encouraged, Ned, sincerely hopeful," Christian remarked
presently. "Concerning the future, I mean. The men are adjusting
themselves surprisingly well to the life here. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, they are."
"If we can keep them busy and their minds occupied...For the present
there is little danger. That will come later when we've finished
house-building and are well settled."
"Let's not anticipate."
"No, we shan't borrow our troubles, but we must be prepared for them.
Have you noticed any friction between ourselves and the Indian men?"
"I can't say that I have. Nothing serious, at least, since the day when
Martin chucked their sacred temple stones into the sea."
Christian's face darkened. "There is a man we must watch," he said. "He
is a bully and a coward at heart. The meanest Maori in the South Sea is a
better man. Martin will presume as far as he dares on his white skin."
"It is not only Martin who will do so," Young replied; "Mills and Quintal
have much the same attitude toward the Indians."
"But there is a decency about those two lacking in Martin. I have
explained him to Minarii and Tetahiti. I have told them that Martin
belongs to a class, in white society, that is lower than the serfs among
the Maoris. They understand. In fact, they had guessed as much before I
told them."
Young nodded. "There is little danger of Martin's presuming with either
of them," he said. "It is Hu and Tararu and Te Moa whom he will abuse, if
he can."
"And his woman, Susannah," Christian added. "I pity that girl from my
heart. I've no doubt that Martin makes her life miserable in countless
small ways." He rose. "We'd best be going down, Ned. It will be dark
soon."
They descended the steep ridge to the gentler slopes below and made their
way slowly along, skirting the dense thickets of pandanus and rata trees,
and crossing glades where the interlaced foliage, high overhead, cut off
the faint light of the afterglow, making the darkness below almost that
of night.
In one of these glades two others of the _Bounty's_ company had
passed 'that afternoon. Scarcely had Christian and Young crossed it when
a screen of thick fern at one side parted and Hutia glanced after the
retreating figures. She was a handsome girl of nineteen with small, firm
breasts and a thick braid of hair reaching to her knees. She stood poised
as lightly as a fawn ready for flight, all but invisible in the shadows;
then she turned to someone behind her.
"Christian!" she exclaimed in an awed voice. "Christian and Etuati!"
Williams was lying outstretched in the thick fern, his hands clasped
behind his head.
"What if it was?" he replied gruffly. "Come, sit ye down here!" Seizing
her by the wrist, he drew her to him fiercely. The girl pushed herself
back, laughing softly. "_Aué_, Jack! You want too much, too fast. I
go now. Tararu say, 'Where Hutia?' And Fasto say, 'Where my man?'"
Williams took her by the shoulders and held her at arm's length. "Never
ye mind about Fasto, ye little minx! 'Which d'ye like best, Tararu or
me?"
The girl gave him a sly smile. "You," she said. Of a sudden she slipped
from his grasp, sprang to her feet, and vanished in the darkness.
CHAPTER V
A path, growing daily more distinct, and winding picturesquely among the
trees, led from Bounty Bay along the crest of the seaward slopes as far
as Christian's house, at the western extremity of the settlement. Close
to his dwelling a second path branched inland, along the side of a small
valley. This led to Brown's Well, a tiny, spring-fed stream which
descended in a succession of pools and slender cascades, shaded by great
trees and the fern-covered walls of the ravine itself. The uppermost pool
had been transformed into a rock cistern where the drinking water for the
settlement was obtained. A larger one, below, was used for bathing, and
during the late afternoon was reserved for the exclusive use of the
women. This was the happiest hour of the day for them.
At the bathing pool they cast off, with the strange English names
bestowed on some of them by the mutineers, the constraint they felt in
the presence of the white men. But in the midst of their laughter and
cheerful talk there were moments when a chance remark concerning Tahiti,
or a passing reference to something connected with their old life there,
would cast a shadow on their spirits, passing slowly, like the shadow of
a cloud on the high slopes of the valley.
One afternoon several of the women were sunning themselves on a great
rock which stood at the brink of the pool. Their bath was over and they
were combing and drying their hair, while some of them twined wreaths of
sweet fern. Moetua had spoken of the tiare maohi, the white, fragrant
Tahitian gardenia.
"Say no more!" said Sarah, her eyes glistening with tears. "We know that
we shall never see it again. Alas! I can close my eyes and smell its
perfume now!"
"Tell me, Moetua, if all were to do again, would you leave Tahiti?"
Susannah asked.
"Yes. Minarii is here, and am I not his wife? This is a good land, and it
pleases him, so I must be content. Already I think less often than I did
of Tahiti. Do not you others find it so?"
"Not I!" exclaimed Susannah bitterly. "I would never come again. Never!
Never!"
"But we were told before we left that the ship was not to return,"
remarked Balhadi quietly. "Christian made that known to all of us."
"Who could have believed it!" said Sarah. "And Mills and the others said
it was not so, that we would surely return...Do you remember, you others,
the morning after we set sail from Matavai, when the wind changed and the
ship was steered to the westward?"
"And we passed so close to the reefs of Eimeo?" Susannah put in. "Do I
not remember! Martin stood with me by the rail with his arm tight around
me. He knew that I would leap into the sea and swim ashore if given the
chance!"
"Quintal held me by the two hands," remarked Sarah, "else I should have
done the same."
"Why did the ship leave so quickly?" asked Nanai. "No one in Matavai knew
that she was to sail that night."
"They feared that you would change your minds at the last moment," Moetua
replied.
"That is how I was caught," said Prudence. "Mills went to my uncle with
his pockets filled with nails, the largest kind; he must have had a score
of them. My uncle's eyes were hungry when he saw them. 'You shall spend
the night on the ship, with the white man,' he told me. So he was given
the nails and I went with Mills. When I awoke at daybreak, the vessel was
at sea."
"And you like him now, your man?" Hutia asked.
Prudence shrugged her shoulders. "He is well enough."
"He is mad about you," said Susannah. "That is plain."
"He is like a father and a lover in one," the girl replied. "I can do as
I please with him."
"For my part," observed Moetua, "I would not change places with any of
you. I prefer a husband of our own race. These white men are strange;
their thoughts are not like ours. We can never understand them."
"I do not find it so," said Balhadi. "My man, Smith, might almost be one
of us. I can read his thoughts even when his speech is not clear to me.
White men are not very different from those of our blood."
"It may be so," replied Moetua, doubtfully. "Maimiti says the same. She
seems happy with Christian."
"It is different with Maimiti," Sarah put in. "Christian speaks our
tongue like one of us. The others learn more slowly."
Prudence had finished combing her hair and was beginning to plait it
rapidly, with skillful fingers. She glanced up at Sarah: "How is it with
you and Quintal?" she asked.
"How is he as a lover, you mean?"
"Yes, tell us that."
Sarah glanced at the others with a wry smile. "Night comes. He sits with
his chin on his great fists. What are his thoughts? I do not know.
Perhaps he has none. He is silent. How could it be otherwise when he is
only beginning to learn our speech? He pays no heed to me. I wait, well
knowing what is to come. At last it comes. When he is wearied, he rolls
on his back and snores. _Atira!_ There is no more to tell."
Prudence threw back her head and burst into laughter. The others joined
in and the glade rang with their mirth. Sarah's smile broadened; a moment
later she was laughing no less heartily than the rest.
"What a strange man!" said Nanai, wiping the tears of mirth from her
eyes.
Sarah nodded. "He thinks only of himself. I shall never understand his
ways."
"What of the men who have no wives?" asked Moetua, presently. "How
miserable they are!" said Hutia, laughing. "Who is to comfort them?"
"Not I," remarked Balhadi. "I am content with my man, and will do nothing
to cause him pain or anger."
"Why should he be angry for so small a thing?" asked Nanai.
"You know nothing of white men," said Prudence. "They consider it a
shameful thing for the woman of one man to give herself to another.
Nevertheless, I will be one of those to be kind to the wifeless men."
"And I!" exclaimed Susannah. "I fear Martin as much as I hate him, but I
shall find courage to deceive him. To make a fool of him will comfort
me."
"This matter can be kept among ourselves," said Moetua. "The white men
need never know of it."
"Christian would be angry, if he knew," remarked Balhadi gravely. "It is
as Prudence says: the white men regard their women as theirs alone.
Trouble may easily come of this."
"Then Christian should have brought more women, one for each," replied
Moetua. "He must know that no man can be deprived of a woman his life
long."
"He knows," said Susannah. "He is a chief, like Minarii, and would
protect me from Martin, if it came to that."
"And it _will_ come to that," observed Prudence.
"Yes," put in Nanai. "You should go to Christian now, and tell him how
you are treated. Martin is a _nohu_."
"He is worse than one," Susannah replied gloomily. "I believe that he has
not once bathed since we came here. I can endure his cruelty better than
his filth...Alas! Let us speak of something more pleasant. I try to
forget Martin when here with you."
All of these women were young, with the buoyant and happy dispositions
common to their race. A moment later they were chatting and laughing as
gaily as though they had not a care in the world.
The garden was now in a flourishing condition. The red, volcanic soil was
exceedingly rich, and the beds of yams, sweet potatoes, and the dry-land
taro called _tarua_ gave promise of an early and abundant harvest.
The pale green shoots of the sugar cane were beginning to appear, and
young suckers of the banana plants were opening in the sun. An abundance
of huge old breadfruit trees had been found in the main valle